Queenslayer
by Aletta-Feather
Summary: Set some time after S6. About Brienne and the men who love her. Daenerys has conquered a part of Westeros. The North remains in Jon Snow's hands. Jaime is banished and on his way to meet Brienne. He has acquired a new name for himself: Queenslayer. Different POV's also for some secondary characters. (Brienne/Jaime, Brienne/Tormund) Slow Burn. Jon and Daenerys are not a pairing.
1. Chapter 1

AN: So this is my first Game of Thrones fic. It's set after the 6th season. I've begun reading the first book but this follows the TV series, not the books. There's different POV's in this. Mostly Jaime and Brienne though. It was going to be a solely Jaime and Brienne fic, but Tormund will play a role too. He sort of insisted. There will be some smut but not a whole lot so I've got the T rating for now. The first chapters are a bit of a prologue with quite a few flashbacks in them.

 **Queenslayer**

 _Jaime - On the road_

Queenslayer was his new name. It wasn't any better than the last. Daenerys Targaryen was the new queen. The Dragon Queen. Jaime Lannister had been banished, not killed. She had wanted his head for the murder of her father. But Tyrion had been at her side as her Hand. He had rescued his brother, pleaded for his life, and the sentence had been commuted. Of course, it had also helped that he'd had killed his first love – his sister – the Mad Queen minutes before their arrival.

Yet Daenerys Targaryen lived up to her name and still had had her revenge. She had marked his good hand with a brand to confirm his banishment. For all the world to see. It was done with Dragon's Breath – a special fire – and so the mark kept burning and would do so until his dying day. Tyrion had thought it better than his head on a plate – Jaime privately wasn't sure if he agreed. He didn't have much to live for these days. His brother served this new Queen, his father and sister were dead as were his children. All Lannister possessions had gone to Tyrion on royal command whereas Jaime was ordered to stay out of the realm.

He was on his way to the North. He had sent out a raven and it had returned with a single worded message. "Yes." The Dragon Queen hadn't conquered the North yet. John Snow was still King of the North. And wherever Jon Snow was, Lady Sansa Stark was present as well. And wherever Lady Sansa was, Brienne of Tarth was too. Jaime had no intention of getting involved in any more battles or politics. Nor did he look forward to see any of the Starks – apparently Bran had vowed to fill him with arrows if he ever happened upon him – but to the North it was. To meet his only living friend.

 _Brienne - At Winterfell_

Three weeks earlier Brienne had heard the first whispers. Queenslayer. Killing his own blood. Some said it was passion: Cersei having other lovers beside him. Some said it was to please the new Dragon Queen. Others simply took him to be mad, quite mad. It was the second time he had killed a monarch. And still he lived. The gods must surely love him. Or have an odd sense of humor. Brienne longed to know the real story rather than the whispers and then she had received a raven about one week later. Ravens hardly ever came for her. She had been worried her father might be taken ill. Tarth so far had been kept out of the war. The isle was hardly the Queen's first priority and Brienne hoped it wouldn't be for a long time to come.

The raven had not been from Tarth. It had come right out of King's Landing. "Meet me," it had said. "Meet me at a two day's ride from Winterfell in a fortnight." He had given a location. An inn in a small town near a forked road, appropriately called "The Forked Tongue." Brienne had replied with a simple yes. But now befell on her the task to leave Winterfell for a few days, say a week, and to not rise suspicions. Brienne hated lying but she could hardly tell Lady Sansa the truth. Nor Lord Snow, the King of the North. She needed a good excuse. So she invented a story about a delegation from Tarth. Tradesmen and a Maester – old friends – who might have news of her father, of her home. She longed to go and meet them. To have a taste of home again. It was a tricky lie but the Starks swallowed it. She deserved a few days to herself and Lady Sansa was happy to grant her permission for the journey. Brienne had thanked them and promised to return within a week, ten days at most. She was ever so grateful.

She wished Podrick hadn't come along though. But no one had wanted to hear of it. Brienne worried over him. In a few hours she'd arrive at the inn and she hadn't told him yet. "A short rest will do us good," she told him. "I need to have your ear on a particular matter." Podrick smiled at that. It was rare for Brienne to ask for his advice. When they had both sat down on the frosty forest ground, she told him bluntly that there were no tradesmen. That it was a secret whom she was meeting and if he ever told a soul she'd have his head. Podrick's face whitened and Brienne scowled at him. "It's the man who gave me my sword," she said. "You remember. You were there."

Podrick nearly gasped. "You are joking!" he exclaimed, before adding in a mumble, "my lady."

"Do I ever joke?" she asked raising her eyebrows.

"No, me lady," he answered.

"I thought not," she said curtly. "You are not to tell anyone. Ever."

"I don't want," Podrick bravely began, and after taking a deep breath, he continued: "I don't wish to be a traitor, my lady. What is his business here? Why are you meeting him? If you don't mind me asking."

"I do mind," Brienne replied, "Yet you do deserve an answer. I do not intend to be a traitor, nor do I wish you to become one. I don't know what he wants. He is on the run, I assume. We'll know once we find him."

"I suppose I do owe him something myself," Podrick mumbled. "Being in your service and all."

"Precisely," Brienne said, "and don't you forget it!"

For the rest of the way Podrick had been silent. Brienne hadn't minded. She had plenty to contemplate.

 _Jaime - Imprisoned_

Tyrion had collected him from his cell echoing the past. "I have never pleaded for something so fervently nor at such length before," he began with a smile on his face. "I saved your life, big brother, like you did mine once." The damp cell was dark and Jaime had to peer to even see his brother.

"For which you repaid me by murdering our father," Jaime remarked wryly, yet relieved. "What will happen to me then?" he asked. He hoped this cell wouldn't be his new home though, granted, it was better than his outdoor prison had been.

"You are to be banished from the realm. You should take a ship or go North, go to whichever country pleases you. You will also – I couldn't stop her on this – be branded. With a Dragon mark."

Jaime shuddered as he looked at Tyrion. "Isn't that…?" he began.

"Yes," Tyrion's replied was curt. "You have seen the dragons she flies with. You are not the only one who will carry this mark," he whispered softly, "she has a whole line of men condemned to the same fate already."

It was then that Jaime noticed some hesitance on his brother's part. "Do you have doubts?" he said, speaking in a low voice, "You are her Hand!" Jaime wondered if he'd ever hear the tale of how that had come about.

"I'm losing the stomach for cruelty," Tyrion said, "especially when it comes to my own family."

"Surely you will not miss Cersei," Jaime's laugh was hollow. "You were the one who hated her."

"Why did you do it?" his imp brother asked. "Why?"

Jaime sighed. "Everything and more," he replied simply. "Perhaps I no longer have a stomach for cruelty either. Cersei's longing for it, however, was on the rise."

Tyrion approached him. "I'm so sorry," he said, laying his hand on Jaime's arm. "It must have cost you a great deal, doing that."

Jaime swallowed hard. "I still can't believe I did," he said softly. "And I truly wish I hadn't." A sob escaped from his throat. "What was I thinking?"

"Better not tell our new Queen that. She's only letting you go because you took care of the Mad Queen for her."

"Cersei was my life," he said. "For so long. Perhaps death would be preferable."

Tyrion wouldn't hear of it. "I did not save you for you to go kill yourself," he said, "all that wasted effort of my rhetorical skills," he said with a dramatic sigh followed by an impish smirk. "You'll find a way; you always have. Surely there must be somewhere you wish to go, or someone you wish to meet."

It was at that moment that Jaime knew who he was going to seek out. "You're right," he said, grateful for his brother's common sense. "There is a certain someone I haven't seen for quite some time. Perhaps she has some ideas."

"Might she be carrying a sword?" Tyrion asked innocently, "and have no sense of humor to speak of?"

Jaime scowled at him with a hint of a smile on his lips. "The very one," he replied. "The very one."


	2. Chapter 2

_Jaime - The dragon_

He stood in a large sandy pit with stands all around – tournaments used to be held here. The dragon stood right in front of him. It was huge. Fierce, scaly ,and black. Jaime could hardly look at it. No wonder she was conquering kingdoms with such beasts on her side. A man held a branding stick near the dragon's mouth as he announced the culprit's name and passed the sentence. The dragon set the stick alight and the man that was being held by unsullied soldiers – two more and it would be his turn – got his hand branded with the stick. He cried out in agony and fell to the ground. Jaime looked up. In the distance he could make out Daenerys and Tyrion. They were watching the spectacle from the stands. Jaime closed his eyes. This would be very unpleasant. Almost as bad as losing his hand. Perhaps even worse. He had gotten used to his lost hand, but would he be able to get used to one that was always painful? He didn't have time to worry because it was his turn. Being so close to the dragon was highly unsettling. He could smell its breath; its anger. His skin got scorched and Jaime yelled out in pain. He imagined he could see her smirk. The Dragon Queen. At least Tyrion had the decency to look pained. Now that his punishment had been carried out, he was free to go. Jaime knew that the first thing he wanted to buy were gloves, to cover the nasty mark, but he would soon discover that his hand no longer tolerated the touch of fabric.

 _Tyrion - In the stands_

A part of him loved Daenerys. A part of him was beginning to slightly, ever so slightly, hate her. Seeing his brother marked so horribly onto his remaining good hand was a hard one to take. Yet she wanted to kill him and she deemed herself to be merciful on his behalf. On his pleading. It was true that he couldn't care less that Cersei had died. She had been the bane of his childhood and beyond. He had hated her, but Jaime had not. He'd been under her spell instead, at least until that female warrior came along. The sour looking one.

The look on his brother's face as Tyrion had entered the Throne room had been awful. It had been devoid of emotion all together. He appeared to be stunned. Completely lost and alone. He was nursing Cersei in his arms. A dead Cersei. Daenerys had wanted an explanation of the situation and upon hearing that this was the Kingslayer had had him locked into a cell. It had taken Tyrion hours to convince her to let Jaime live. He could not remain in King's Landing, however.

Tyrion feared for his big brother. Banishment was not an easy life. He'd have preferred to have him nearby as the only surviving member of his family but he knew that was too much to ask. He shouldn't overplay his hand. "My children are enjoying themselves," Daenerys said to him.

"Yes, they are, my Queen," he replied. "They are channeling your wrath."

"I believe so," she said as her eyes sparkled. "I will be a righteous Queen," she continued, "And they are the instruments of my justice."

Tyrion nodded. "Indeed," he said, but watching Jaime hobble away at the far end of the pit, did not help in truly agreeing with his Queen.

 _Jaime - The Throne room_

"I will never surrender," she had shrieked as the Kingsguard told her of Daenerys' arrival at the palace gate. "NEVER!"

"But I will," he had muttered. He stood beside her and with a swift motion had used his dagger to slice her throat. Cersei's hands had reached for the wound to stop the bleeding but to no avail. Within moments she was dying in his lap. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "So sorry, my love." And then she was dead. Just like that; it had taken no more than a minute. Regret had jumped on him as she lay lifeless in his arms. "What have I done?!" he yelled. "I loved her!"

The Queensguard had done nothing. They hadn't even attacked him. They just stood there, as lifeless as himself. As lifeless as Cersei. "You've killed the Queen," one of them had finally said. "You're a Queenslayer," and then his nerves had caused him to chuckle. The others had gaped at this young member in their midst. Jaime only had had eyes for his dead sister. He noticed in a moment of clarity that he'd pierced her at the nape of her neck, the very same spot that he used to kiss and caress. Not long after that Daenarys had entered and he'd been chucked into a cell. It had been the last time he had laid eyes upon Cersei. The very last time.

 _Brienne - At the Inn_

Podrick and Brienne entered the inn. It wasn't hard to find Jaime, as there were few guests. The Forked Tongue was not a well-known establishment – in fact it was hard for the innkeeper to even make his living. Brienne assumed that's why Jaime chose it. An unknown inn at a quiet road in the middle of nowhere.

"You're here," he said in greeting. "And Pod too!" Brienne sensed he wasn't a enthused as he tried to sound.

Podrick had nodded stiffly. "I'll go and secure our rooms," he'd said and left to greet the innkeeper. Brienne had sat across him. Jaime didn't look too well. "Did you have a good journey?" she asked, not knowing what to say.

He nodded. "Well enough," he said with a raspy throat. "I'm still breathing." His eyes were dark and full of pain. It pierced her heart. He was not well at all.

That's when she noticed his hand. She took a closer look. "Is that a Dragon's Mark?" she asked. "Like in the stories?"

"Yes," he replied. "It burns like the seven hells."

Her hand softly touched the blackened burned skin. "I am sorry," she whispered. "You did not deserve that."

He chuckled mirthlessly. "I might, actually," he replied. "I killed my sister. My Queen, my very own blood." He was silent for a moment. "Perhaps it is in our blood. Tyrion killed our father." He sighed and fell silent. "I'm not pleasant company at the moment, I'm afraid."

"You've been through a lot," she said. "There's no need to apologize."

He smiled faintly. "It's good to see a friendly face," he said. "Though I get the impression Pod isn't too pleased."

"He's worried this is going to backfire on us, on him."

"He should be," Jaime said. "He should. You should too. Aiding and abetting me, the Queenslayer."

"I'm not that worried," she said. "We'll be careful."

"What did you tell Lady Sansa?" he wondered.

"Something about friends from Tarth. They understood I wanted to meet them."

"You're lying on my behalf," he said, in a voice of faint praise but equal parts sarcasm. "Honest and true Brienne." He shook his head. "Should I be flattered or disappointed?"

"Your choice," Brienne replied. "I could hardly tell them I was meeting you. Especially not if…" She was hesitant to continue. "Ser Jaime," she said, "I've been thinking. You can't really stay in the North. I mean you could, on your own, but you'd be friendless. I'm expected back at Winterfell in mere days and you'd be stuck here in this cold land. If you're interested I could…" She fell silent again. "He might - I can't be sure as I can't promise or decide for him - but he might shelter you." Brienne stared into the distance for a moment. "He could, but whether or not he will, is anyone's guess."

"Brienne!" Jaime sounded sharp. "Who might?" His eyes had narrowed. "Who would you entrust me to?" She could see the distrust all over his face.

"My father," she said. "You might be safe at Tarth. Since she has crossed the Narrow Sea, the Dragon Queen no longer has much interests in our isle, I believe. My father is not fond of strangers though, nor visitors." Brienne frowned. "He keeps himself to himself mostly. But if I send a letter with you , perhaps he might."

"Truly banished then," Jaime replied, but a smile appeared on his face. "Tarth sounds very well," he grinned. "I saw a glimpse of it not too long ago. Why did you ever leave?"

"I wonder that myself sometimes," she replied. "I do miss Tarth, more so of late." Brienne longed for the cliffs, the glorious waterfalls where she'd bathe and swim. The colorful birds and mostly the sun, soft and warm, unlike this never-ending winter.

"Let's drink to the Sapphire Isle then," Jaime said as Podrick joined them and a new round of ale appeared.

"To the Sapphire Isle," they echoed.


	3. Chapter 3

AN: Thanks for all the reviews! I'm glad you are enjoying the story so far. It's a slow burn and – in true Game of Thrones fashion – there will be a few deaths. Just so you're warned.

 _Jaime – at the Inn_

After a quick drink Podrick had soon left them again. He'd had his eye on one – or more, Jaime mused – of the tavern girls. It was clear he disliked being seen with him. Brienne, on the other hand, seemed to relax as the evening progressed. At first she had stiffened whenever someone gazed at them for a few seconds too long, but the warmth and the ale were doing its work. Jaime had cautiously embraced the idea of going to Tarth. He didn't have plan yet so he could give it a try. He was personally far more skeptical than the Fair Maiden of the Isle itself but hadn't led on too much. She clearly missed it as well as her father. It was as if she was sending him as a substitute for herself. The glimpse he'd had seen on the way to Dorne had given him a good first impression. Yet Jaime was quite sure that if her father was anything like Brienne herself he would not harbor a banished knight. He was careful not to voice that opinion.

Brienne was more talkative then he remembered. She talked about the isle, about Winterfell – far too much about the Starks. Something about her had changed, he thought. Jaime wasn't in the mood for talking himself. There was so much he wanted to tell her, to share, but how to find the words? These things could not be put into words. He had killed his twin. His mother's only daughter. He was worse than Tyrion. Far worse. Patricide was not that unheard of.

When she went into yet another subject – almost as if she had gotten afraid of silence – he held up his hand. "Lady Brienne," he said. "I must cut you short. It has been an eventful day. An eventful few weeks," he laughed hoarsely. "I'd like to retire."

"Of course," she said. "I'll see you tomorrow." Jaime rose as Brienne nursed her final pint. Slowly he climbed the stairs to his hired bedchamber. When he lay his final glance on her from the top of the stairs he could see she was worn with worry herself. She had been brave for his sake as he had for hers.

 _Brienne - In her bedchamber_

He had looked worn out, Brienne thought as she removed her outer clothes, some fifteen minutes later. She slept in just her coarse tunic underneath. It was as if his eyes had dimmed, she felt. The sparkle had gone. His voice was still dripping with sarcasm, speaking the same old words as usual, but his eyes spoke a different tale. His sister's death affected him greatly. And not just because she was his sister. Brienne sighed as she crawled into a cold but comfortable bed. Cersei, the Mad Queen. She had never had much of an opinion on her, not until Ser Jaime had become her friend. He meant more to her than that, to be sure, but she was unaware about the nature of his feelings for her. He had been enamored by Cersei after all. Brienne knew she was nothing like her.

He had killed the woman he loved. What did that say about him? Brienne was scared to even contemplate. Cersei's destruction of the Sept and many innocent lives had caused the whole realm to fear her. Fear her madness. Brienne had too and had been pleased she was in the North under the protection of Lord Snow. Ser Jaime still had occupied her mind sometimes but another one had too. A wildling leader with a big red beard. He was nothing like Ser Jaime and yet he was drawn to her. Truly, open and visibly, drawn to her. Brienne was beginning to get drawn to him too. With her life being in the North now, she had finally decided not to have foolish and girlish hopes of the affections of a Kingslayer. Then the raven had come.

She had not been at ease tonight. Brienne had talked much more than she intended. He'd fallen silent over the course of the evening. Even more so after Podrick had left. Brienne had rattled on about this or that – whatever she could think of, really. She had been afraid to ask the real questions. What would he do? How would he survive? What had happened in the Throne room? Did he regret it? The answer to the last was surely yes; he seemed positively haunted.

Yet with all her stories she had failed to mention other tales. She hadn't spoken of the wildling. The wildlings in general. Nor of the threat that was far greater than all the wildling tribes combined. The true threat of the North. As far as Brienne knew those that lived in the North were beginning to believe the Others had returned; they didn't need any more convincing that something was greatly amiss. But further South they were still considered fables. Brienne didn't know where Jamie stood on the matter. He had witnessed dragons. Seven hells, a dragon had scourged his hand forever. Like the Others, dragons used to belong in stories.

It seemed to her that they had not spoken of anything that truly mattered. That so much had been left unsaid. She fell asleep disturbed by that thought. They only had mere days.

 _Podrick - at the Inn_

They still looked like love birds, Podrick thought as he slowly approached the pair the following evening. Podrick had seen to the horses that afternoon whereas the Queenslayer and Lady Brienne had taken a walk through the woods. At the moment, they were sitting on the snowy grass overlooking the valley next to the inn. He could hear Brienne's voice: it was so much softer than her usual coarse barks. Is she even aware of it, he wondered, of the change in herself whenever he is near? It was their second day, already evening, and Podrick was careful to leave them alone most of the time. It was partly to give them a chance for private conversations, partly to distance himself as much from the Queenslayer as he could. Podrick dreamt of heroism but wasn't really made for it. Being at Lady Brienne's side had been an honor and a curse. At first he'd disliked being Squire to such a funny creature: a woman knight, who was still called a Lady, even if she looked anything but. He had felt small beside her – even slightly emasculated sometimes. That had not been the case with his previous master. Yet he'd grown to like and respect her. And she him. She'd taught him how to fight and he was definitely pleased about that.

But now she was here, getting herself – and him – into a pickle. Helping bloody Jaime Lannister. Cooing over him, well not quite, but still. Podrick thought it was all a bad idea. Very bad indeed. He wished they'd soon be back on track to Winterfell. "I'll be inside," he said in passing,"these tavern wenches are something." He was already popular with them and enjoyed the respite they brought.


	4. Chapter 4

AN: A few more chapters at the inn - a bit of a respite for our party or perhaps the calm before the storm - before the story of war and banishment continues.

 _Jaime – In Brienne's chamber_

That same night, Jaime entered Brienne's bedchamber. The lock was easy enough to open – even with one painful hand - hardly a sign of a good inn. She was sound asleep and seemed to be fighting even in her dreams. He sagged down onto the only chair in the room. Perhaps his dreams might find him here. Cersei's face was haunting him, especially at night when all was quiet and he had nothing but his thoughts. His betrayal haunted him constantly. She had hurt him, yes; she had altered beyond recognition, yes; but still they stung. His misdeeds.

It had been a good day as far as it went. They were both cowards though, he thought, in hindsight. Both of them had seemed resigned not to speak of anything untoward. They had mostly reminisced. Brienne had fulfilled her oath as far as saving Lady Sansa was concerned. Even Arya Stark had found her way back to Winterfell as had Bran. Whatever remained of the Stark family had been reunited. Unlike him and Tyrion who, once more, had been torn apart. Brienne had sworn her fealty to Lady Sansa and took her oath very seriously – like she always had – so there would be no return to Tarth for her. Jaime had done a half-hearted attempt to convince her to join him but had only managed to insult her with such an dishonorable implication. She would not go unless she was released from her oath. Jaime didn't have to heart to ask her to put that particular question to Sansa. For all he knew his stay at Tarth might be very short indeed. Perhaps even fatal. The worst thing about that, he found, as darkness overtook his mind again, was not the part about dying alone in a friendless place where no one knew you, nor cared for you – the very worst part was that he didn't care much if such a thing were indeed to happen. The last few times he had felt like this, he'd been scolded and shamed out of such a feeling, either by Brienne or Tyrion. But this time, he did not share these thoughts. Purposefully. He let them simmer and grow; Jaime even hoped they might come to fruition. He would join his sister in the grave. Go where she had already gone before; where their children resided too. A family reunited.

He grunted loudly as he tried to sit comfortably in the chair. Brienne startled awake. "Seven hells," she said when she realized her sword was pointing at his throat. "I could have killed you!"

"A befitting death for a Queenslayer," he said, but she wasn't laughing.

"Why were you here?" she said, both angry and worried. "You could have just asked, you know." Brienne scowled at him. "Perhaps I should have," he said whispering. "I couldn't sleep. I've hardly been able to sleep as it is, only of sheer exhaustion during the journey here. Never more than a few hours a night; until my dreams wake me."

"You do not wish to be alone," she gathered.

"Aye," he said. "It wakes the darkness; the dark thoughts I can't seem to shake. The memories mostly."

"You're welcome to stay here. You can have the bed," she offered. "I'll stay in the chair. I'm far too rattled to fall asleep soon anyway."

"I couldn't do that," he said, "It's your room. You deserve it."

Brienne sighed. "I suppose.." she started reluctantly, "It's not a very big bed yet I've seen ship's quarters that are smaller which can also house several."

"Thank you," he said.

She looked pointedly at him yet her subsequent calm nod gave him courage. Brienne stepped back into the bed, taking care to stay on her half. He slid under the covers as well doing the same.

As he lay beside her occasionally touching her soft skin when either of them moved– the bed was rather small – he realized he hadn't actually slept beside someone often. Not like this. His moments with Cersei had been stolen ones. A few fleeting minutes here or there. Never a long night sharing a bed lest they'd be caught. Jaime closed his eyes. It felt strangely healing to share a bed. The warmth of her body warmed his cold heart. Sleep quickly took him and for the first time in a long while his dreams were pleasant.

 _Brienne - In her chamber_

Brienne, on the other hand, had a hard time falling asleep. She was far too aware of his presence beside her. Why had she offered it? She scolded at herself for her stupidity. Yet his soft snore soon made her feel more comfortable. He needed the rest much more than she did. She watched him sleep. Brienne seethed with anger every time she saw him wince during the night. Every time the mark on his hand accidently touched something, even the bedding, he'd flinch. No wonder he didn't sleep well. This Dragon Queen seemed to be just as cruel as her father had been. Maiming people with Dragon Marks. Though Brienne's loyalty was mostly to Lady Sansa, she found herself fervently wishing for Lord Snow to win. For him to take the Iron Throne and for this Dragon Queen to disappear – she and her dragons too. Let them be burned themselves, she thought savagely. It unsettled her slightly. The rage. Brienne was good at staying calm. At pretending she was fine. But there was rage beneath the coolness. She had fire inside herself too. When the first rays of the sun appeared at the horizon, Brienne finally fell asleep.

 _Jaime - In bed_

He stirred. Jaime opened his eyes and didn't immediately recognize the room. Then the events of the night returned to him. He lay on his side, facing one of the walls, when he realized something soft was covering him. It was her arm, protectively laid over his own. Tears sprung into his eyes unbidden. Brienne was still asleep he gathered. Keeping as still as he could he savored the moment. His night had not been troubled. His dreams had been sweet. His children were there. Happy and dancing in a green valley. There were beautiful birds and sunny meadows. No dragon, no Cersei, no father. Nothing to spoil the moment. Even Joffrey had seemed cheerful – unlike in life. It had been wonderful and, above all, he had felt happy and safe. Briefly he wondered if that was what the afterlife was truly like. Perhaps that wasn't too bad after all. Jaime had never much considered the gods in his life. He assumed they were there; doing what they were supposed to. Hopefully. Death was something one wished upon one's enemies; not something he cared to think about too much. The afterlife was featuring in his thoughts a lot these days. Had Cersei disappeared for ever or did her soul linger somewhere? Where did it linger: in one of the heavens or in one of the hells? He closed his eyes and tried to get the dream back. He shouldn't be dwelling on these things; they drained him far too much. Jaime's thoughts went to Brienne. Her arm was still holding his. He wondered how it had happened. If she had been awake. He could feel something stir beside him. She was waking up.


	5. Chapter 5

_Brienne – In her chamber_

Brienne opened her eyes. The room was already flooded with sunlight. She lay on her side facing a man. Her eyes grew wide but then she remembered. Her arm was covering his. Brienne swallowed hard. She hoped he hadn't woken yet so she could quietly get dressed and break the fast. She moved her hand and realized that he was awake. "Did you sleep well?" he asked. He didn't turn to face her. Brienne blushed. "Eventually," she replied. "It took a while."

She climbed out of the bed and Jaime did turn around now. He sat upright and gazed at her. Brienne felt naked in just her tunic. "I slept wonderfully," he remarked. "Must have been the company."

As always with Jaime Lannister's words she couldn't tell if he meant them or not.

"You were holding my arm," he said, raising his eyebrows. "For any particular reason?"

"Yes," she said. "It kept getting hurt." She could see he didn't understand.

"The Mark," she explained. "You flinched whenever it touched something. In the end, I felt this was for the best."

He didn't reply with a witty remark, nor a sneer. He just looked at her. "You were protecting me," he said.

Always, she thought. I'd protect you anywhere. "There must be some kind of solution," she said. "You should have a Maester take a look at it; see if there isn't something that can be done."

"I think that rather is the point," he smirked, "that there isn't anything to be done about it."

Brienne swallowed hard. "It seems to me she takes after her father," she blurted out, still feeling the rage on his behalf.

He stared at her again. "It's still too early to tell, I think," he replied. "She does seem to enjoy cruelty. Yet she could easily have had me killed in any number of horrible ways."

"Perhaps she felt life would punish you more," Brienne brought forth, looking at him.

He nodded. "I tend to agree," he said. "Perhaps she was right in that respect."

Brienne's eyes grew dark. "You'd have chosen death?" she asked. He didn't reply; suddenly keeping his eyes downcast.

Brienne felt ready to scream. Here she was risking all to help him and he longed for death?! "That is despicable," she said, unable to keep the words from tumbling out of her mouth.

His eyes did meet her at that. They were thick with both fury and grief. "You cannot even begin to comprehend how I feel," he said, "so don't try to shame me. It won't work."

Brienne's eyes spat too. "You are ungrateful," she said. "I lied for you!"

He laughed at her. Scathingly. "You lied," he smirked, "You think anyone cares? Anyone at all?"

"I do," she said sternly. "I care, but you wouldn't understand."

Jaime sighed deeply. Brienne began collecting her clothes. She was going to get dressed and go for a walk. On her own.

 _Jaime – In Brienne's chambers_

He watched her dress. Clearly she was rattled. He was rattled himself. "Brienne," he said as she was about to stalk out of the door. "What?" she replied.

"I am grateful," he said. "You know very well that I am."

She gave him a quiet nod but still left in a hurry. Jaime took a deep breath. He had to face yet another day, and the one after that, and one after that. He decided to take a bath and called for one of the inn girls to give the order. If the mostly polite – though cruelly honest on occasion – Brienne had said that life might be a punishment for him, he must look rather dreadful, Jaime gathered. Perhaps a bad would help change that.

The warm water was soothing. Not to the Dragon Mark though. It kept burning and the steam coming from the water seemed to increase the pain. He still needed to clean the wound, he thought – it had started to swell slightly – and so he slowly put his hand under the water's surface expecting the worst. But in the hot water itself the pain was leaving him. The Mark's throbbing calmed down. Jaime decided to soak for a long time if only for his hand's sake.

 _Brienne – In the woods_

"Will we be staying long?" Podrick had followed her the moment he saw Jaime wasn't present. "We'll need two days to ride back at least," he pleaded. Brienne wanted to yell at him but kept calm and collected. "There's no need to shorten an already short visit," she snapped. "Surely even you understand that."

"He is sleeping in your chamber," Podrick suddenly said. That did grab her undivided attention.

"What's it to you?" she barked. "I can make my own decisions."

"You should be more careful," he advised. "He is hated throughout the land. He is in exile. No one likes people in exile. They are pariah's. You should think of your own interests."

"You mean I should consider yours," she astutely gathered. "You're a coward, Pod."

"Perhaps," he said, hurt, "but I think of it as a means of survival."

Brienne sighed. "You would," she said, not unkindly. "Have you ever loved someone, Podrick?" she suddenly heard herself ask. Immediately she began to blush. She stared at the trees to hide her discomfort. It seemed as if they'd remain leafless for a long time to come, she thought.

"No, m' Lady," he said. "Not as of yet."

"Pray you don't fall in love," she replied. "It brings nothing but misery. It makes you do things you never would have otherwise."

"Like what?" he said, fishing for a juicy tale no doubt.

"Like cheat and lie," she said. "Like keeping your mouth when you should speak and the other way around. It makes you misbehave; it takes you outside of yourself and the feelings…" She stopped. A loud sound startled her. Podrick stiffened beside her. "A beast," he whispered. Brienne drew her sword. The one he'd given her.

"A company of merchants, or worse," she guessed. But it was a wolf. A direwolf. It didn't stir but simply stared at them from a few steps away. It had appeared out of nowhere. Brienne slowly lowered her sword as a sign of peace. The wolf simply stayed put. For what seemed like hours, they were locked in its gaze. Then it turned around and ran away. Podrick wiped the sweat of his forehead. Brienne put her sword back in its sheathe.

"You were saying about feelings," he said, after they'd decided to turn around, back towards the Inn.

Brienne complied. "Your feelings get all riled up – they change every other minute – it's like they are on fire. You lose your calm, your balance. It's all highly unpleasant."

She could feel Podrick's gaze. "I wish I hadn't begun to care for him," she whispered. "I'd never have done this for anyone else," she admitted. "Aiding a banished person. Meeting with them. Drawing you into it."

"You tried to make it a solitary journey," Podrick agreed. "The Starks wouldn't let you."

"I am sorry you got mixed up in all this," she replied, as they approached the inn. "Always on the road with me for clandestine meetings." Podrick laughed. It had almost been a joke.


	6. Chapter 6

AN: Thanks for reviews, follows, and favorites!

 _Jaime – At the inn_

After his bath he had felt revived. As if some of the pain had been washed away. He greeted Brienne and Podrick as they entered the inn. They told him about the direwolf. He told them about the mark not hurting in the water. It had been Podrick who had finally asked the hard questions, not Brienne.

"Why did you kill her?" he had said as their meat and bread arrived. "She was your sister and your Queen." Jaime looked at them. The room was empty; he wouldn't have told them otherwise.

"She was out of control," he said. "The Sept had been destroyed and still she wasn't satisfied. People were getting rounded up for the smallest of slights. I tried to make her see sense. That she was taking revenge on the entire realm for the sins of a few. She did not heed my advice. Tommen had taken his own life because of what she had done and she didn't even care much. As if his death didn't matter at all." His voice had gotten hoarse. "She had always been cold, calculating, like our father. But the coldness spread; it took on a life of its own. Her champion – the Mountain – was torturing whomever she chose – and she chose randomly. When I heard whispers of Daenerys' fleet, a part of me was relieved." He briefly halted, sighing deeply. "During the Walk of Atonement they'd spat on her – the people – they had joked and jeered and covered her in filth. I wasn't there. I couldn't protect her from them – I couldn't protect Myrcella either, nor Tommen." His voice faltered. "I couldn't protect any of them," he whispered, before he continued his tale. "Cersei despised the common people all her life but now she'd truly begun to hate them. The choices were not random she said, because the whole city had laughed at her and, therefore, the whole city should pay. No one was safe anymore."

"A truly Mad Queen," Brienne had replied. "And so the task fell to you again."

He nodded. "Like a curse," he said. He had closed his eyes and sighed. "And still I cannot hate her," he whispered, so softly they could barely hear. "Not in my heart of hearts. She needed to die. Yet I cannot forsake her."

Brienne had looked away and it had made him feel guilty about this outburst of love for his sister.

"You will leave for Tarth," Podrick had said, in order to break the awkwardness. "And if Brienne's father will not have you? What will you do then?"

"I will board a ship – whatever ship will take me – and let the gods decide," he said. Brienne had bitten her lip. "I will be fine," he promised her, briefly touching her hand, "even if your father won't accept me. The world is a large one – there will be a spot for me somewhere."

"I want you to send a raven once you know," she said. "But remain careful in your wording. At least, for now." He promised and with that it felt as if the air had been cleared. They had ordered more meat and more wine and eventually it had led to Podrick singing filthy songs. Brienne's head had grown redder than ever and Jaime hadn't felt this cheerful in a long time.

 _Jaime – In Brienne's chamber_

It was their last night and somehow that made them both fidgety. Jaime had sat on the chair and then on the bed; he had paced the small bedroom. Brienne had been doing the same. They had eventually settled down again; she on the chair, he on the bed. "Podrick seems quite popular with the tavern wenches," he had joked and it had caused Brienne to fall silent. That had not been his intent, he had wanted to lighten the mood, not dampen it! He tried desperately for some subject or other but couldn't find the words. Therefore it was Brienne who finally broke the silence. "My honor has always been important to me," she said, almost like a declaration. "I've never broken it. Yet, when I look around me, especially in that respect, people often seem careless."

"In which respect?" Jaime wondered. For a moment, it seemed she wouldn't reply at all. Brienne had stared at him, almost as if she didn't see him, as if her mind was elsewhere.

"Physical honor," she eventually said, blushing red. "Having bastards here or there. Not caring about marriage vows, that sort of thing."

"Ah," Jaime was unsure where she was going with this. "It does happen, yes." Why are we talking about this? He thought. Is it a slight on me, on my children?

Brienne swallowed hard. "There's a man," she said suddenly. "A wildling, can you imagine?! He's interested in me." She emphasized the final word, in utter surprise and disbelief.

Jaime felt bad for her. "That's good, isn't it?" he replied hesitantly. "Yet you don't sound too happy about it." He stopped for a moment. "A wildling you say?" he asked. "What's a wildling doing south of the Wall at Winterfell?"

"They're in alliance with Lord Snow," she replied. "Against the true enemy of the North."

"Who might that be? The Others?" Jaime smirked. "Stories of old, surely."

"Like dragons?" Brienne asked. "They weren't supposed to exist anymore either."

"Perhaps," Jaime reluctantly admitted. He was not getting into the subject. "You were saying about honor and wildlings?"

"They do what they want, take what they want, hardly even believe in marriage." Brienne sighed. She seemed to be considering something or other. Jaime couldn't tell if she admired the wildlings for their attitudes or not which was odd in and of itself. The Brienne he knew would have had a thing or two to say about such laxness. "I don't know," she said after a while. "I'd have broken my honor for some." She stared into the fire.

Jaime hardly dared ask. This conversation was entering into dangerous waters. Unknown territory.  
"They sound like pragmatists," he said. "That's not necessarily a bad thing."

She smirked. "I thought you might say that," she replied. "I often recall your bitter speech about vows and how they can clash so severely with each other."

"You remember that?" It had not been his best moment. "I was a prisoner. I was hardly, you know, in my right mind at the time," he joked.

"Oh, but you were," she said. "You are as skeptical as I can be naïve."

"Let me pretend I am my brother Tyrion and invent a proverb," he replied. "We all witness the world through our own eyes and imagine others are exactly like us."

Brienne nodded. "And therefore smart people cannot understand dumb ones, men have a hard time understanding women and the other way around, and honest people do not truly understand dishonesty," she said, her face growing dark. The frown she was wearing did not enhance her features, Jaime decided. Far from it.

"Precisely." He briefly paused, debating whether he should voice his thoughts. "Your honor prevents you from even understanding treason or treachery very well: the motivations behind it. It also caused you to give me a chance where others did not." For which I am grateful and which I'm depending on even as we speak, he thought. Letting me go to Tarth whereas most people simply would want my head on a stake. You are too good for your own good. She'd written a letter to her father that he were to take with him. It was sealed so Jaime didn't know what it said but no doubt it would be full of praise – undeserved praise at that.

"I suppose on this subject I am becoming cynical. Keeping one's honor for what? For whom?" She scoffed and briefly sounded as bitter as Jaime himself. Brienne had found a way to get back to the dreaded territory. Jaime didn't know how he would respond. There had been various moments where he would have had her. Taken her into his arms, kissed her, and more. Much more. But perhaps not now. Not today, not tonight. It was as if a dead Cersei was more of a deterrent than a live one. Jaime felt like he wasn't allowed to enjoy his life anymore because he had ended hers. Taken away her chances, her dreams, her old age. "Ser Jaime?" Brienne called him back. "Are you even listening to me?"

"Sorry, I.." he began. "I'm tired. These days have taken their toll."

"Aye," she said. "I've been building up my courage all week so I'm just going to speak on the matter."

Here it is, Jaime thought, closing his eyes for what was to come. Here it is. Then he shot her a pained look.

"I said earlier that I would have broken my honor for some. Clearly Renly would have been the first –

had he been interested – and I'm sure you are well aware of this, you are the second." She met his gaze and briefly held it, before looking away.

Yes, there it was. "Perhaps this wildling could be the third," he joked, but Brienne wouldn't have it. She looked at him pointedly – her blue eyes reminded him of the waters around Tarth – and said: "Well? What do you have to say about that?"

Jaime sighed. "Brienne," he said. "I truly wish we weren't having this conversation. It's too hard."

"It's way past time," she replied. "Long past. It has been on my mind for far too long; I had to speak."

"I understand," he said. "I do. I care for you, you know that. Deeply. Perhaps more than for myself. I'd happily die for you."

"But," she astutely said. "There's a but."

"Yes." His eyes pleaded for her to understand. "It's too soon, now that Cersei is gone." He could not not mention her name. "There have been moments that could have been our moment," he said, "and that's the truth, Brienne, but tonight is not it. I have demons to battle, too many to count, and I just can't."

He fervently hoped she would understand. Brienne stood up. "I need some air," she said briskly. "Don't be too long," he said. "It's our last night. Tomorrow we will part."

"I'll check on the horses," she replied. Jaime watched her walk away. Perhaps he should have kissed her, he thought on reflection. Given her something to remember him by, something other than the sword.


	7. Chapter 7

_Brienne – Tending the horses_

He wasn't going to see her tears. She spoke sternly to herself as she made her way down to the horses. She wasn't going to spoil their last evening. Brienne had feared this would happen and yet she had been compelled to try. Too long she had not. Too long she had bitten her tongue. She had loved him for too long not to speak. She had longed for him for too long not to speak. Yet Tormund had made it even more pressing. His interest in her had awoken those feelings again. The feelings she was very good at keeping at bay and had since her early teens. Ever since Brienne knew most men were not interested in her as a woman, she'd learned to put a lid on such feelings. A very firm lid. It usually worked quite well. But not with Renly, nor with Jaime. Yet they had both been so unreachable, so distant and unavailable to her whereas Tormund, on the other hand, was very much at hand. It was flattering.

The horses didn't need much tending. She checked if they had enough hay. If they were not sweaty as they might fall sick with fever. If their shoes were still on properly. "A long road ahead tomorrow," she said to none of them in particular. "No more resting for any of us."

Brienne had been slightly appalled and horrified by Tormund's attentions at first, but as time went on, she had been flattered by them. The wildlings didn't punish fighting women. They adored them. They expected women to be strong. Brienne had grown to admire that attitude; it was one she shared with them, at heart. Jaime's raven had opened up old feelings, buried feelings, and so she had to find out, to be sure. He had been clear enough. A 'not now' that could become a 'not ever.' He'd be gone far away soon and who knew when they would meet again? If they would? Despite that he had said no. Quite clearly. There had been moments he'd said, but they were gone now. Tonight wasn't it. Cersei was still there: occupying his mind– almost like she had invaded or conquered it. Cersei might always be there, she thought. Perhaps it is better this way. She would not stop loving him yet she could perhaps love another as well.

 _Jaime – In Brienne's chamber_

Jaime felt she was taking too long. He agonized if his rejection would hurt her willingness to help him. Yet he couldn't pretend just for the sake of her help. That would be dishonest and it might even show. Brienne deserved better than that. He sighed in relief when he heard her coming up the steps.

"Brienne," he said the moment she stepped inside: "I truly hope this doesn't change anything. I wouldn't want to lose your friendship for the world."

"You never will," she said, "you know that well enough, Ser Jaime." She gave him a stern look.

"I apologize," he said, "forgive me. I know you are not one to go back on your promises."

"Of course not," she said. "I'd die of shame."

Jaime bit his lip. Kingslayer his mind jeered. Queenslayer.  
"Let's not talk about honor anymore," he said gruffly. "It's hardly my favorite subject." He saw that Brienne pretended not to notice the edge to his voice.

"You're right," she replied. "Let's not. Why don't I tell you about Tarth and how to handle my father?" Her eyes had a rare twinkle to them. "You might enjoy that."

"I'd like that," he said, relieved the nastiness was over and done with. At least for now.

 _Brienne – In her chamber_

Jaime had gone back to his own chamber a few minutes ago. He had slept a few nights beside her – she had held his arm like she had before – and he'd been grateful for it. She knew that her confession earlier that evening was the reason he wasn't here now. Her bed was cold tonight. Sleeping side by side had increased those thoughts, she thought, how could they not? It had been wonderful to have him beside her. To feel his warmth, his breath. Their bodies meeting briefly when one of them tossed or turned. But mostly to have him there. Safe and sound beside her. They'd part tomorrow and she wouldn't be able to keep an eye on him anymore. To attend to him. She almost got out of bed to enter his chambers like he had hers some nights ago. But she did not. Something stopped her. Was it Cersei? Was it Tormund? Or Jaime himself? His eloquent no. His longing for Cersei still; even after everything she had done. He loved her despite everything, yet he also cared for her. He'd said so. Deeply he had said. But love he had said not. There had been moments, he had said. Moments where they'd might have. Brienne closed her eyes in pain. But even during those moments were he might have, he hadn't, she thought. He had not. She took a deep breath in an effort to calm herself down. Perhaps it was not so bad they would part again. Being with him was draining, draining and agonizing. It was time for that to end. For her calm and her strength to return.

 _Jaime – Saying goodbye_

The horses were saddled. This was his last chance to speak. Podrick was already on his horse and eager to leave but Brienne kept lingering. He regretted not staying with her last night. He should have. He should have given her what she so strongly desired. Why hadn't he?

Jaime knew why. It would have been cruel. False hope. He was to leave and not return for a long time. She shouldn't pine for him. He was no prize. He shouldn't give her anything to pine for. And with that thought he resolutely stepped forward and embraced her. He held her for a brief moment, firmly planted a quick kiss on her cheek, and gruffly said: "If he's worthy of you, this wildling, give him a chance, will you?"

Her eyes grew wide. He nodded sternly at her. "Your life is in the North now," he said with commanding eyes. "Live it." A part of him already regretted saying it as the words escaped his lips but she deserved to be happy. To have love in her life, even if it meant he would not.

She nodded back, still a little stunned. "Remember our Words," she replied. "The ones I told you. Of the Isle."

"I will," he promised. "I won't forget."

Brienne mounted her horse and they left. Jaime watched until he couldn't see them anymore. Think about our words, she had said. The Words of the house of Tarth that were hinted at in their sigil: after night cometh day. Jaime swallowed hard. "After night cometh day," he mumbled. "If only it were true." He too mounted his horse and rode off into the opposite direction. On his way to an isle he'd seen only once. The isle that she belonged to.


	8. Chapter 8

_Jaime – At sea_

It had been hard to find a ship that would carry him. Even his gold didn't seem to sway the boats men. "You're bad luck," one of them had spat. A big one with a crooked smile had told him his gold was cursed anyhow. After two days – and three dark nights – a captain approached him as he stood in the small harbor. "Queenslayer," he said. "I hear you're searching for a passage. It so happens that one of my passengers has decided to remain ashore so I'll have your gold instead."

The price he asked was far too high but Jaime didn't care. As long as it would take him where he wanted.

He had breathe his first sigh of relief when he no longer saw the shore. He was truly gone. Hopefully on his way to something better. The weather was nice and the sea was calm. He stared out onto the waves. "Not thinking of jumping overboard?" the captain quipped. "Feeding the sharks?"

His laugh was hollow. "I believe even they would turn their nose up at my flesh," he said. The captain laughed.

"I hear the Dragon Queen is handing out those like a whore does kisses," he said, as he examined the Dragon Mark. "Offenders are leaving the Citadel or so I hear, simply to get away from her. She may not be an improvement on the last one."

Jaime scowled at him. "When are they ever?" he asked. "I've served too many Kings and Queens to be impressed by any of them."

"Aye," the captain agreed. "I'll tell you, kinslayer, there's the reason I chose to live aboard a ship. To be away from it all. Far at sea."

"Only sharks to worry about," Jaime understood.

"It's a quick enough death," he said, "sharks are. Every sailor knows."

"Of course," the captain continued with a sly smirk, "there was also the matter of the two gambling squires that owed me money and paid with their lives instead."

Jaime laughed. "Ah," he said, "a fellow exile."

"The sea is full of them," the captain said with a shark like smile. He didn't have many of his teeth left, Jaime noticed, and the others were already rotting. "The waters don't care much who sails them."

 _Jaime – on the Isle of Tarth_

He'd be treated quite warmly, until he had revealed his name. At first, he'd just used Brienne's letter and people would guide him. But once he was inside the castle itself, he had been forced to state his purpose. The guards had not been kind. They'd kept him in a cell for three days – apparently Lord Selwyn was indisposed – Jaime himself thought it was just the guards asserting their power. He could have easily done the same when he was younger. When he served as a Kingsguard and still took pride in it.

Yet today, it was the fourth day and he'd been taken out of his cell quite early in the morning and escorted by two guards flanking his sides. Jaime was led into a great hall. The Council room. Despite the many windows letting in sunlight, the hall had darkness to it. A festering atmosphere. Perhaps it was just his imagination, Jaime thought, or it could be a foreboding. There wasn't much color – apart from that of the sigil – perhaps that was it. The hall was as stern as the man presiding over it. Brienne's father sat behind a dark wooden table serving as a desk at the very end pouring over some books. Lord Selwyn of Tarth. He had once been large, like Brienne, Jaime noticed, but age had already shrunk him a little.

"You've arrived," Lord Selwyn said, sternly, looking up at him. He rose and looked him over, shaking his grey head. "My only daughter deems it wise to send me the Kingslayer – or should I say Queenslayer, I'm rather losing count here – in a time of war. I truly hope you will not be the doom of us."

Jaime remained quiet. This didn't bode well.

"Killing the woman you love; I cannot respect that," Brienne's father continued. "Laying with you sister, well, it's an old Targaryen tradition. Yet you are not a Targaryen."

"No, I am not," he replied. "If you but let me explain," he pleaded.

"There's no need. You've brought a letter?"

"Yes," Jaime stepped forward. "From Lady Brienne. Can I tell you how much I admire and respect your daughter?" he began cautiously. He truly meant it but it could easily be mistaken for common flattery. "She is…" Her father raised his hand and said again: "There's no need. I'm afraid the word of a Kingslayer means nothing to me. My daughter's words, on the other hand, do."

Jaime handed him the letter and stepped back. If Brienne could not convince her father, clearly he wouldn't be able to.

 _Lord Selwyn – in the Council room_

The raven from his only living child had caused him great distress. She was sending him a traitor. Thereby providing the Dragon Queen ample reason to invade his precious isle. He had immediately sent a raven back but it had been too late. Apparently he was long on his way and Brienne had only informed him of his arrival once she had been safely back at Winterfell. Such deceit was unlike his daughter, his only kin. It must have been the traitor's influence on her. Lord Selwyn longed for happiness for his Brienne but he didn't care much for her taste in men. So far they had mocked her, but toying with her feelings was quite another matter, even more distasteful. He would get to the bottom of this, to be sure.

The Queenslayer stood before him. Lord Selwyn was not impressed. He had a ragged look to him. A displeasing figure. A man who'd killed his own King, his own kin, his own Queen. And Lord Selwyn's own daughter vowed for his honor. Vowed for it! How could this man even have honor? He didn't know the meaning of the word!

"I have half a mind to send you straight back to King's Landing," he finally spoke, after he'd read Brienne's letter. "My daughter has clearly put her trust into the wrong man. Tell me, did you take advantage of her?"

The Kingslayer swallowed hard. A sure sign of guilt, Lord Selwyn thought.

"I did not, my Lord," he replied, but Lord Selwyn did not believe a word he said.

"A man of your reputation might do anything," he said, grumbling, "and my daughter seems to have taken a shine to you. Ever since the unfortunate affair with that bear."

"I could not let her be maimed like that," he said. "It would have been too cruel a fate."

"Aye, we can agree on that," Lord Selwyn said. "You will remain here for the time being, but not as a guest. Not a welcome one anyway. You will not eat at my table. Two of my guards will keep an eye on you at all times. If I so much hear a whisper of Tarth being in trouble on your account, you will immediately be returned to our new Queen. Until then you may remain here. Do not believe this is for your sake. I'm thinking only of my daughter."

"I thank you regardless," Jaime said. "It is more than I deserve."

"Indeed," Lord Selwyn replied. "You deserve the punishment of death for murder and treason. Here at Tarth disembowelment and slow drowning is the fate of such offenders. The smell of blood attracts the sharks from afar causing quite the spectacle for those watching." He smiled nastily at this filthy Lannister.

"That will be all," he ended his speech. "Now get out of my sight!"

 _Jaime – in the courtyard_

Two guards grabbed his arms and threw him out of the Council Room. He was tossed unceremoniously onto the tiled floor. It had a mosaic of intertwining stars in blue and white. "You filthy kin-fucker," the guard called him. He was young with thin blond hair. Small but probably quick, Jaime gathered. "You're worse than the beasts of the forest."

"Or the sea," the second guard said. "And taking our Lady for a fool! Taking her honor and the good name of our isle!"

"I respect Lady Brienne as much as you do," he replied, clumsily rising. The searing pain in his marked hand made it hard to support the full weight of his body. "Her honor is quite intact."

"And why should we believe you?" the largest, and eldest, one hissed. He had crooked teeth and a balding head. "Your word counts for nothing. You are nothing."

"Do you honestly believe there is anything in this world – beyond this world even," he laughed – "that would cause her to lose her honor?" he replied. "Perhaps Lord Selwyn would be interested in your views on that. Very interested, I imagine." He made for the doors of Lord Selwyn's Council Room.

They stopped him, a shocked look on both of their faces. "No?" he said. "You don't want him to hear your views?" They scowled at him and did not release him either.

"Now," Jaime said, feeling slightly more at ease, "It seems we are condemned to each other for the time being. My name is Ser Jaime Lannister; who might you two be?"


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

 _Brienne – in the woods_

When they finally got nearer to Winterfell, and could see its towers tower over the trees, Podrick had told her: "I believe you made the right choice, m' lady, if you don't mind me saying so."

"Thank you," she had muttered, "But what makes you think it was?" Brienne herself was beginning to suspect what she had done. It could all fall apart so easily.

"You've followed your own conscience," he said, "and," Podrick paused for a second, "that's who you are."

Brienne gazed at him. Her squire was not as unawares as he often seemed to be. "I'll need to lie to the Starks though," she said, "and that goes against my conscience, yet it is the only way. Do you remember the story we've practiced?"

"Aye, m' lady," he said. "It will be fine. They will have other things on their minds."

Brienne nodded. They'd heard only yesterday of Daenerys' growing army and of the many ways her dragons could wreak havoc. It would be a bloody war, Brienne thoughts, and they might end up in the very middle of it.

Podrick had been right. Lady Sansa had barely heard her account of her trip and no one else had even bothered to ask. Brienne could easily send a message to her father – and Jaime – without getting in any trouble. "A friend of mine will arrive at your gate soon, Father," the raven had said. "Despite what you might have heard, he does have honor. Remember the bear. He'll carry a letter on his person. Please do not send him away, I beg you. I beseech you on this. As always, your loving daughter Brienne." It was all she could do, she thought to herself. Her father was a stubborn man but so was she. Perhaps she would win this round.

 _Jaime – at his new house_

His two new guards – not really his, but close enough; Jaime chose to see them as such – had helped him, very reluctantly, to procure a place to stay. It wasn't much but it would do. A small house but with a good view of the sea. Granted that went for many houses, here at Tarth. "Ser Roderick," he called the young blond, lean one, "where might I inquire for a maid and perhaps a stable boy or gardener?" The stable needed to be mended; everything needed to be mended; that's why it hadn't cost much. Why it had been empty to begin with. "These weeds are… well, they need trimming."

"I don't think anyone will want to serve you," the bald man, Ser Gideon, replied. "You should do it yourself, and it's not as if you have a horse." He had had to leave his own behind.

"I do intend to get myself a horse," Jaime said, "and I'll need a maid for cooking and cleaning."

Ser Roderick got a frown on his face. "There's always Suzanne," he said, ominously, "she'd do anything for anyone. Especially now," he looked darkly at Ser Gideon.

Ser Gideon seemed even more uncomfortable than he had before. "Hiring Suzanne would make him even more of an outcast," he said grimly, "and it would mean her presence reflects on the both of us too."

"So what's the story?" Jaime asked. "Why does no one want her?"

"She's a witch," Ser Roderick says. "She has done some dark, dark things. She has the evil eye and she dances naked at night with the goblins of old and she…" Ser Gideon stopped him with a gesture.

"Suzanne knows about herbs," he said. "How to make them kill or restore a man. She also has weird appetites, physical ones."

Jamie laughed loudly. "I take it she sleeps with these goblins of hers," he gathered. "Does she have their babies too?"

"She sleeps with women too, I heard," Ser Roderick says, "and the last time, it was with the daughter of one of Lord Selwyn's most trusted advisors."

"And since then no one will hire her, so she sells herself at night," Ser Gideon said. "She's an outcast, at the moment at least," he reluctantly admitted.

"Until she's needed for her herbal knowledge or a new scandal breaks," Jaime said, slightly revolted. It was the same all across the world, he thought. "I'd like to meet her," he said cheerfully. "She won't be bothered about me being who I am."

His two guards couldn't argue with that.

The next day Suzanne came to meet him. She had dark hair, dark eyes and something about her did feel eerie. Jaime ignored the feeling. He didn't believe in goblins. "Cleaning, gardening, cooking; that's about it," he said. "Perhaps helping me with the horse once I find one."

"Is that real gold?" she asked, pointing at his hand. "And a Dragon Mark too?"

Jaime affirmed both. "If you try to get your hands on my gold, I'll gladly chop your head off," he said, "though these two" – he indicated his two guards – "seem to think you'll use your dark arts to haunt and taunt me thereafter."

"I do what the earth tells me," she said. "It speaks to us all but most are not willing to listen."

"Well, this garden has been quite outspoken in its abundance," he chuckled: "What do you think it has to say?"

"You mock me, Ser," she said.

"You should take no offence," Jaime replied. "It is my way."

"I'd like to use the herbs, Ser," she said, "if you don't object."

"I do not," he said, "let me show you your rooms."

That night she came to inquire if she was wanted. He told her no. She seemed relieved, he thought, or was there disappointment in her eyes? Either way, he was safe. At least for now. Brienne had seen to it.


	10. Chapter 10

AN: Thanks for reviews, follows and so on.

 _Jaime – at home_

He had survived his first week. The islanders jeered at him – he had gotten used to that decades ago – and beyond that they let him be. His guards followed him like shadows and muttered about Suzanne. Jaime was settling in quite nicely, he thought. He would look at a horse that afternoon and try to send out two ravens. If Lord Selwyn allowed it.

"Ser Jaime," Suzanne called him. She had done most of the garden already and needed assistance with her basket of herbs. "If you please…" He carried it inside the kitchen with her and she began to assort them into piles onto the kitchen table while he refilled their cups of wine. She looked at him and he could see a question in her eyes. "Yes, Suzanne?" he said, narrowing his eyes. "Is something the matter?"

"I've been meaning to ask," she said, "but I'm not sure if I should." Now that was intriguing.

"You're a witch," he replied, "or so they tell me. What is there to be afraid of?"

She sighed. Clearly she did not care for his jokes. A bit like Brienne, Jaime thought. Perhaps it a Tarth thing; all that seriousness.

"If I were to tend to the mark on your hand," she said, "would you do me a favor as well?" He almost choked on his wine.

"There is no remedy," he said, "that is the point." She laughed, hollow and hard. It was rather offensive. He frowned at her.

"In my experience," Suzanne stated, "there is no such thing as never. Or no remedy. It is simply said to discourage one from searching."

"And if you were to achieve it," he said, "what would be the favor?"

"You'd teach me to read," she said, slyly. "Of course, I might be better in helping you if you taught me to read first. There's a large herbal section in Lord Selwyn's library which may contain valuable knowledge. I never did get a glance at it."

Jaime laughed. "You are cunning," he said. "I'll grant you that." He glanced at the Dragon Mark on his hand, at the herbs laid out on the table, and back at her. "All right," he said, "I will. Though it remains to be seen if they'll let the likes of me into his precious library."

"The Maester is easily bribed," she said, a smirk of her lips. "Though you may have a harder time with that."

"How so?" he asked.

Suzanne shrugged. "You're not a woman."

It had taken him a few weeks but Jaime had found some sort of a new life. It wasn't very exciting but he'd seen quite enough of that for the time being anyway. He took a lot of long walks; he rode his horse to explore the isle. He'd sit by the seaside and stare at the water for hours on end. Suzanne tried to encourage him telling him that his mind needed time to heal. He had told her - stung for she was right - he did not need her advice. She had simply shrugged and kept giving him calming cups of tea. Jaime had given up trying to stop her doing such. He knew it was because of his nightmares. It was almost as if she was a mother, he'd realized one afternoon, and that had been strangely comforting.

He trained his marked hand with his guards; he'd begun to teach Suzanne how to read and he had gotten himself a dog. Jaime had had dogs as a child and this one had kept following him around. He had eventually given in and given it a name and a home.

 _Tyrion – breaking the fast_

Tyrion was breaking the fast seated alone at quite a long table. It was rather desolate to start one's morning in such a manner, he reflected. He took an extra sausage from the pile. He'd always enjoyed a hearty meal. A Maester arrived with a message for him. Tyrion accepted it, expecting it to be something tedious, but as he saw the heading he almost choked on his sausage. It said: my dear brother. It was a message from Jaime. Tyrion almost felt like cheering. Surely everything was well if he'd managed to send him a raven. These last few weeks Jaime had often been on his mind.

As he was reading the short message the raven had brought him, Daenerys appeared at his side. Tyrion hadn't heard her enter. "Pleasant news?" she asked. She picked up an orange, fondled it in her hands and decided against it. Tyrion tried desperately to find a lie but the words got stuck in his throat. "May I?" she said, raising her eyebrows. He could not refuse.

"My dear brother," the Dragon Queen read out loud. "This promises to be interesting," she said, her eyes narrowing. "A word from your banished brother. What does he have to say, pray?"

"It's all there," he replied. "He says he is safe."

"My dear brother," she read again, aloud. "Though I will not inform you of my destination, I will tell you that it is hot. The wine is good – and you will not believe this – I've gotten myself a hound. A stray dog took a liking to me. It seems exile agrees with the both of us. Do not worry on my account. My daily occupations involve long walks near the sea and chopping my own wood. I feel like a solitary Septon of a contemplative order. Wishing you blessings of the seven."

"It sounds like him," Tyrion said. "Colorful descriptions."

"Meaningless ones," she spat, "yet it would appear he has left the realm. Like a banished knight should."

"Indeed," Tyrion replied. "He kept his word. We Lannisters pay our debts."

She scowled at him. "I take it you haven't replied yet?" she asked.

"No, I have not," he answered.

"Very well," his Queen said, "As I will regard it to be an act of treason. You cannot control what the raven sends you but you will be responsible for what it carries back."

He nodded gracefully. "Your loyalty lies with me now, as my Hand," she said. "I will know if you have disregarded my wishes." With that she swept out of the room as quickly as she had entered.

Tryrion sighed. He would have to be careful. Perhaps it was time he trusted a whore or two again. He would find a way to reach his brother. He shoved his plate away for he had no more appetite.


	11. Chapter 11

_Tyrion – Sending the message_

The raven he had prepared for Jaime appeared not to have been sent by him. It was sent by a merchant in rare goods, hidden amidst the many ravens the merchant sent out each day. The merchant had picked it up from his favorite whore who'd slipped it to him along with some gold dragons. It spoke of Daenerys' conquest in cryptic terms and also suggested that there might be a solution to Jaime's problems with the Mark. He'd overheard Daenerys say to her friend and translator, Missandei, that there was a special salve that took away most of the pain. She wanted the secret kept, but Tyrion was determined to find the recipe. Jaime shouldn't lose hope.

 _Brienne – In the courtyard_

Jaime's raven had been short but welcome. He had arrived, safe and sound, and had found himself a house, a hound and a maid. Suzanne of all people. Brienne had grinded her teeth at that. Suzanne was an exceptional beauty and was said to have strange appetites. The idea of them cooped up together in a small cottage by the seaside did not put her mind at ease. Jaime's last words often echoed in her head. "If he's worthy of you, give him a chance." Brienne had considered it. She had watched Tormund. His comings and goings; how he treated people. Quietly deciding if he was worthy.

Nothing that Jaime had written indicated that Suzanne meant more to him than what she was; literally a helping hand. Then again, nothing he said revealed a closer attachment to her, Brienne, either. He was happy despite her father's distrust and he lived a quiet life. He wished her well. He was grateful for her help.

Brienne sighed as she crumbled the letter and tossed it into the fire. It should not fall into the wrong hands. Podrick stood next to her, raising his eyebrows. "We succeeded," she told him. "He is safe." Brienne heard his sigh of relief. "A successful mission then," he said. "I'm glad."

"Me too," Brienne said. "Our efforts have taken root."

"Let us hope they will blossom," Podrick replied. Brienne scowled at him. "Do you long to be a poet instead of a squire?" she said. His face grew red. "No, m' lady," he mumbled.

 _Jaime – Teaching Suzanne_

It was raining. The very first time since he'd arrived, Jaime realized, as he was pacing inside the small kitchen. It rather reflected his own mood, this heavy rain. Tarth was a sunny isle – almost too sunny – but now the rains had come. Suzanne was pouring over a few letters he had given her to practice. His own hand was still clumsy but they were decipherable. "I had a hard time learning to read," he said as she was narrowing her eyes, trying her best but not succeeding very well. "My father gave me extra lessons until I finally learnt. He was quite determined."

"You are too," she said. "Teaching me to read and write." She slowly traced the shape of the letter S. The snake, she had called it. He had said he learnt it as a curvy river.

"Might as well know how to do both," he said, "so you can collect your own herbal recipes."

She smiled sadly at him. "Alas, I don't have anything for what is bothering you," she said, far too frank as was her way.

"Homesickness?" he joked.

"A broken heart," she said. "It's hard to mend."

Jaime frowned at her. "I'm sure I won't be the first – nor the last, I dare bet – to tell you this, but you really tend to forget your place."

She giggled. Jaime felt the urge to slap her but bit his tongue instead. His brow darkened even more.

"You're not the first, no," she said, "I keep getting into trouble over it."

"Aye," he said, "and you're about to as well."

Her eyes pleaded with him. "I'm sorry," she said, "Truly. I overstepped the mark."

Jaime sighed. "I let her go," he said, as he sat down on his chair, whispering. "I even cut her loose."

"Lady Brienne?" she asked, tentatively, unsure. Jaime supposed she thought he spoke of his sister after all.

He nodded as his face twisted in pain. "There's someone there, where she is, who likes her. I told her to…. Well, to grab her chance."

"That was a very kind and decent thing to do," Suzanne said. "Since you're both so far apart." Only the Gods know for how long, Jaime thought.

"I regret it every day," he said, with clenched teeth, "yet I can't make myself write her a raven to take it back either. It was the way she spoke about him," Jaime decided to just get the words out of his mouth – out of his head where they festered and hurt. "Something she said."

"May I ask what?" Suzanne inquired, more careful after his outburst.

Jaime didn't immediately reply. He stared out of the window, before he began to ask her questions instead. "You've known her since you were a child," he suddenly said. "You're roughly the same age?"

"The septa's were always sneering at her to be less mannish," Suzanne said. "Talking about ribbons on a cow – remarks like that. People often laughed at her behind her back. She was hardly a highborn who'd make it into songs. Not love songs, at least."

Jaime cringed. "Precisely," he said, his face reddening. "I've said some things myself. Granted, I was her prisoner at the time, but even so. They might have stung. They might have stuck." He sighed. "When I recall them; when I recall what she said about him…. This man." A shadow crossed his face. "I am the one who feels unworthy of her."

"So what did she say?" Suzanne asked, her dark eyes curious. "To make you so troubled."

"That he was truly, genuinely, interested in her," he replied with a smothered voice. "From the very start. Her surprise at that was very .. " – he fell silent. "It haunts me a little." Jaime felt the tears sting behind his eyes. He was not going to cry in front of this woman.

Suzanne nodded, pondering it seemed. "You keenly felt your own shortcomings." She gathered.

"I never wanted for lack of interest," he said, "nor did Cersei. Tyrion, well, he did."

"I can't imagine it myself either," Suzanne said. "I often found myself longing for less attention."

Jaime smiled briefly. "Same here," he said, "but that's only possible from a position of plenty."

"One that she has never known," Suzanne said. "Perhaps never will."

"Brienne, she," he continued, "she sees only the good in me. At least, she does now. She closes her eyes to the bad, pretends it isn't there. She's better than me. She deserves better than me."

Suzanne made protesting noises. Jaime was grateful for them but they wouldn't change his mind. He would not discourage Brienne from finding someone other than himself. Someone who had seen her beauty from the very beginning. Someone quite possibly worthier than him.


	12. Chapter 12

_Jaime – at the cliffs_

Lord Selwyn approached him as he sat on the high rocks facing the sea. It had become his favorite place. Sea as far as the eyes could see. He had a letter in his hands. "I've taken the liberty of reading it myself first," he said with a grimace. "Can't have you receiving secret messages."

Of course he had, Jaime thought. It hardly mattered. Apart from being shunned by most of the island population, Tarth was treating him well. The food was good, his bed was soft, he'd taken in a stray hound. His guards didn't bother him much and Suzanne was a good companion. This life was not his first choice perhaps, but miles better than most of the alternatives.

"From Brienne?" he asked, knowing full well it would be.

Her father nodded. "Not a bloody love letter at least," he said, clearly relieved. "Just about the day to day stuff. Conversation-like." Jaime was oddly disappointed, though if her father read along, it was probably for the best.

He sat beside him instead of stalking off like he usually did when he had something or other to convey. Jaime rose his eyebrows but said nothing.

"You know," the old Lord began, "in her first letter, the one you brought with you, she asked me to treat you like the son I never had." His laugh was full of scorn. "As if!"

Jaime kept still. Something was coming, he could sense it. A lifetime of danger had given him uncanny abilities in that respect.

Lord Selwyn sighed. "As if," he mumbled, more to himself than to Jaime. "In this one – the fourth if my count is right – she thanks me for it. As if I actually had."

Jaime moved uncomfortably. "You've done quite enough," he said. "I'm in exile. I'm grateful for what you have done."

"Aye," her father said. "Beggars can't be choosers."

"Indeed." He could no longer afford the Lannister pride.

"I've decided you need a task," he said. "Something to occupy your time and your mind. You can't keep staring out to the sea like that. It has driven men mad. And I won't have you roaming across the Isle at all hours anymore either with that bloody dog of yours."

"What do you wish me to do?" he asked. He could not imagine the stern man to suddenly trust him.

"There are books that need new bindings," Lord Selwyn said. "The Maester will show you what's what."

"Thank you," he said, as Lord Selwyn handed him the letter. "Truly."

The man did not reply. Suzanne would be pleased too, Jaime thought, as he might get her some books on ancient medicine.

The letter _was_ mostly day to day stuff, conversation-like. Lady Sansa was supposed to get a suitor but nothing had been agreed upon yet. Jaime really couldn't care less. Half the letter was about one Stark or another. He wished Brienne talked more about herself instead. She was the one he cared for, not those Northerners. But Brienne was coy about the details of her life. He grew restless of it. Was she leaving valuable information out?

 _Brienne – preparing the raven to Jaime_

Brienne didn't know how to tell him. She kept on rambling on and on about Lady Sansa. Jaime had given her his blessing, but even so, it seemed too harsh. Too cruel. She couldn't do it. Tormund had kissed her. He would soon seduce her to do more. And she might not put up a fight. Brienne knew that. He had called her a wonder of nature. How could she resist that?! She couldn't; she knew she most likely wouldn't. Brienne had lived without love for far too long. It was her time. But she wasn't going to burden him with that knowledge. Not yet anyway.

 _Brienne – blocked in her tracks_

Brienne startled. She'd taken a short cut through a narrow nook of the castle and now her path was blocked. Tormund Giantsbane stood in her way. He looked like a giant, she thought, a bear of a man. "I've been meaning to speak to you," he said with a grin. "You'd almost think it is fate."

"Would that you'd let me pass, Ser," she said. "I'm on my way to Lady Sansa."

"I am no Ser," he said. "Lady Sansa can wait."

Brienne waited. When he didn't move, she said: "What did you wish to relay to me, S… I mean, Tormund?" She tasted his name on her lips. It was strong, she decided, just like him. Firm.

He took a step closer. Brienne's hand went to the hilt of her sword. Tormund smiled. "You have the wildling spirit, I see," he said with appraising eyes. "When our people marry – which we rarely do – we take a woman and if she does not fight all the way, she isn't worth much."

"That's not how things are done South of the Wall," she warned him. "Nor at Tarth, where I was born."

"I know," he said bowing his head in acknowledgment. "I've learnt some of the customs here."

"That is pleasing news," Brienne said. "I'd hate for there to be a misunderstanding causing loss of limb." To her own surprise, her voice had less steel in it than she'd imagined.

"Aye," he said. "Though there are worse things in the world than an honorable fight."

Brienne smiled, despite herself. "Agreed," she said, dipping her own head.

"I," his voice briefly faltered. "I wish you'd let me nearer," he finally said. "Will you?"

Brienne bit her lip. She took a deep breath, narrowed her eyes, and said: "Very well." Tormund walked towards her and stopped right in front of her. He was big and broad and she felt a shiver of fear. Or was it something else? Brienne couldn't tell. He looked into her eyes and she saw nothing but kindness, yet she also felt like there was a fire brewing underneath the surface. The fire wasn't just inside him either.

"When I first laid my eyes on you," he whispered, his gaze still capturing hers. "I thought: _that_ is a wonder of nature."

Brienne smiled nervously. "Thank you," she said with a quivering voice. All her life she'd been called a freak of nature, yet he saw something else in her. "That means more than you know," she whispered.

A broad grin appeared on his face. "You shouldn't hide yourself," he said. "You have much to share."

He softly lay his hands on her shoulders and slowly pushed her onto the wall behind her. She let him. Her mind briefly flickered to Jaime. He had said she could. That she should even. Tormund's face came close; his beard grazed her skin, and then his mouth was on hers. It was different than she expected. Better. She softly moaned. His hands travelled a little and ended on her breasts. Even through her thick clothes she could feel the heat radiating of him. Of herself too. He whispered into her left ear. "I'll visit you tonight." Brienne was too stunned to reply.


	13. Chapter 13

AN: This is both a Brienne/Jaime fic as a Brienne/Tormund fic. Since it's the hurt/comfort genre, it's quite a bit about heartbreak.

FYI: This chapter may have an M-rating or perhaps it could still be considered a T: I find the rating system quite difficult to apply myself.

 _Jaime – asleep and dreaming_

He was shouting loudly in his sleep. It would have woken up Suzanne had she not been outdoors that night. Jaime was still plagued by nightmares and tonight three women occupied his thoughts. Cersei, Brienne, and Suzanne. All three of them radiant and with darkness in their eyes.

It had started with his brother gazing at him with an evil smirk. He had been accompanied by a dragon. Jaime had been afraid. Would the dragon devour him after all? But then the Dragon Queen had taken to the air and Tyrion had floated away, higher and higher to meet her. It was then that Cersei appeared telling him that she'd haunt him forever. Her arms turned into claws, hooking into his skin. She was stuck; she was inside of him and would never let go. He tried to run away but he couldn't. He was frozen to the floor.

Then darkness took him and as he woke – still inside his dreams – he saw them; all three of them. Somehow he got the sense they all thought he belonged to them. They were standing in the water and came towards him. Dark clothed in black lace all of them – even Brienne. She was the only one wielding a sword. Cersei and Suzanne grabbed an arm each and they pulled him under. He called out for Brienne. She wouldn't let him die in the water, would she?

Jaime was gasping for air and as he was drowning he saw Brienne gliding away from him. Her sword was in her hands, catching the blue moonlight. She turned and waved at him, like she had when he'd seen her on the river making her escape. Brienne wasn't angry, he thought relieved, but she wasn't present either. He woke up with a start.

As the darkness faded from his room, Jaime slowly came to his senses. The feeling of the dream lingered. Three thoughts stood out to him – each as uncomfortable as the next. Cersei wasn't ready to let him go – or was it the other way around? Brienne might be lost to him, perhaps forever. The third thought bothered him the most. Could he trust Suzanne?

 _Brienne – in her bedchamber at night_

The rest of the day went by in a haze and before long it was night. Lady Sansa had gone to bed and so had Brienne. She couldn't sleep. Every sound was louder than before. Every color – even in the dark – more vivid. The whole day Brienne had argued with herself. If he came to her door, would she let him in? Brienne still didn't know the answer. It changed every minute. A part of her still longed for Jaime, ached for him, yet a part of her wanted to be held this very moment by two strong arms. Wanted someone who had seen her beauty without first mocking her or calling her a beast. Brienne knew that was unfair. Jaime had been her prisoner at the time; she shouldn't hold it against him. He'd grown to care for her. Deeply.

A soft knock on her door meant the moment had arrived. "Brienne," Tormund hissed. "No one's here, open the door." Brienne stumbled out of bed. At the door, she hesitated. "Come on," he urged her. "You don't want anyone to see me, do you?" Brienne unbolted the door and Tormund slipped in; she closed the door behind him. Tormund took off some of his furs, throwing them into a corner before he looked at her. "You must be cold," he said, seeing she was wearing just her tunic and was barefoot. "It's no matter; you'll be warm soon enough."

Brienne blushed. She stood next to her bed and she felt hopelessly uneasy. It seemed that tonight would be the night. The night she had not expected to ever happen. Not to her. Tormund didn't seem to notice her unease; he didn't comment on it. He took of his breeches and the rest of his clothes and stood quite naked before her. Brienne swallowed hard. She didn't know where to look. His chest was hairy. Everything was. Unlike Jaime. She briefly closed her eyes.

And then he was near her and his hands reached for her tunic. She had made a little tear in it as it had been too tight across her muscled chest. "You're still hiding," he said as his big hands took hold of her tunic. Softly she heard the fabric tear further and further. Brienne wasn't scared. It was strange, she thought, I should be scared. His lips kissed the nape of her neck as his hands found her small breasts again. Skin against skin, this time. Softly his fingers circled her skin and Brienne began to tingle all over. His grip hardened, kneading her ample flesh; it felt good. Then his hands travelled further down and he tore the fabric some more and more. Eventually her tunic lay on the floor. Ripped. He took her in his arms and lay her on the bed itself. He slowly spread her legs and, for the second time that day, Brienne willingly and happily surrendered. Right before he entered her, he smiled and whispered teasingly in her ear: "Do you yield?" She could only nod. When he entered, there was a sharp short pain, but then she could only gasp for breath. The intensity of the moment took her by surprise. Waves of pleasure poured over her skin and Brienne finally understood why people so often broke their honor in this regard. That night, she didn't sleep, for the red haired bear of a man beside her snored far too loudly.

 _Tormund – in Brienne's chamber waking up_

He had noticed the blood in the morning. Tormund had not expected that. "You should have said," he grumbled, "I'd have been a bit slower. More careful like."

Brienne had smiled at him. "They do call me the Maid of Tarth," she said. "It's kind of in the name."

"Not anymore," he had grinned. "I take it you don't mind?"

Her laugh had been very cheerful, so unlike her usual demeanor. "It was wonderful," she said. "I'd been scared for no reason."

"You want me to come visit you again?" he asked, hoping for a yes, and she had provided it. That had caused him not to stop grinning all day. People remarked on it but he had remained mysterious for her sake. If her name would ever change – from Maid into something else – it would not be because of his doing.


	14. Chapter 14

_Jaime – a cryptic raven_

Jaime had received the strangest raven. He kept reading it over and over again on his way home from the library. The Maester had been courteous enough to let him help out; there was much to do. Lord Selwyn's bookbinding idea had not come to fruition though; that was hardly possible with his hands. Instead he was archiving scrolls and books away: nothing too important – they clearly didn't trust him – but interesting enough. Suzanne had followed him like a shadow – was following him and his hound like a shadow right now – and had been pouring over books about herbs. Ever since his dream Jaime had been a bit distant towards her. He knew he shouldn't put too much store in dreams yet he had had uncanny dreams before. Still it would be unwise to alienate his only friend on the isle. His guards had become more and more lax over the weeks, something Jaime was rather thankful about. He knew they reported back to Lord Selwyn, but really there was nothing to tell. His life was calm and uneventful. Except for this puzzling raven. It had come from a merchant and was about salve and maybe about troop movement. Jaime wondered if it had come from Tyrion, yet why the riddles?

A few hours later Suzanne was reading it. It had become evening and they had just finished their meal of carrot stew. Jaime had gone outside for a short stroll and when he returned she was trying to read it. The moment he noticed, he grabbed the piece of paper from her hands. "That was not meant for your eyes," he hissed.

Suzanne was unimpressed. That was one of the most discomforting things about her, Jaime thought. He was unable to intimidate her. "So the Dragon Queen is gathering forces," Suzanne said, "Your brother is good at cryptic messages."

"Too good," Jaime mumbled. "I didn't get all of it."

"Read it to me then," she said. "I'm good at riddles and I only read the first two lines when you came barging in."

Jaime read the message to her. It was all buried in merchant's talk about crates being brought here or there and something about fire being smothered.

"She has her eyes on the North," Suzanne eventually said. "And he mentions that there is a salve, for your marked hand. The Queen has spoken about it – the recipe is supposed to be secret – but he will try to find out more."

"He shouldn't risk it," Jaime said. "Clearly even writing a raven is risky." He sighed. "From what I gather," he continued, "between her Unsullied, the Dothraki, and her dragons, she is doing quite well for herself."

"The West and the Vale will be first," Suzanne murmured. "The North will be last, of course, and it's not easy to fight in winter."

"There is that," he said, a glimpse of hope arising in his heart. "I suppose her dragons can't melt all the snow."

Suzanne giggled. "They'd have a hard time doing that," she said. "After all, it's just the three of them."

"Three too many," Jaime said darkly. His hand reminded him of that truth every day.

* * *

A few months later 

_Lord Snow – in his council room discussing strategy_

There were but a few men – and one little lady – present in his council room. Lord Snow did not like to have too many voices as it hindered swift decision-making. That would be enough of that later when all his banner men were gathered. For now, it would be just him, Ser Davos, Tormund, Lord Manderly, Lord Glover and Lady Lyanna Mormont. They has answered his call once more to discuss the latest War developments. They were far from good ones.

"She even has taken the Eyrie," Ser Davos said, looking pained. "Everything and everyone trembles before her. She has placed her own Warden in the West. Casterly Rock stands under her command, although one could say it still belongs to the Lannisters what with the Imp being her Hand."

"How did _that_ happen?" Lord Snow wondered. "Sansa has expressed some worries over her vows to him. One hopes that won't become a problem in the future."

"Lord Tyrion's potential and latent interest in Lady Sansa is the least of our worries, as I see it," Lord Glover said. "Now Petyr Baelish had something or other to do with Queen Daenerys taking the Eyrie, I'm sure of it. He lives while Lord Yohn Royce does not? He has spent far too much time with us, here up North, and now he'll be spilling all of our secrets to this Dragon's Spawn!" The older man spat. "Why did we even trust him to begin with?"

"What's done is done," Jon Snow said. "There's no point going over it again, Lord Glover. We thought we could trust him and we were wrong."

"If it hadn't been for Lady Brienne," Tormund said. "He'd have taken Lady Sansa with him. Poisoning her mind, filling her with doubts. A despicable man he is. I'd gladly pierce his heart."

Ser Davos and Lord Manderly exchanged looks. Tormund didn't notice, but Lord Snow did. I must speak with Tormund, he thought. Tormund and Brienne's change in demeanor – from somber to cheerful despite the war turning sour – had gone unnoticed at first, but it hadn't taken that long for the rumors to take root. Lately they were growing positively wild.

"Gentlemen," he said, "we need to look at the bigger picture. Petyr Baelish will not escape our wrath if we have a chance. We, however need to decide whether or not we will disperse our troops along our long border or stay together and stay strong. Whatever we will do will impact her strategic decisions too and we need to prepare ourselves for that. Myself, I'm of a mind to have a few strongholds, but no more than a mere few. The more we spread out the weaker we become, though it will also mean leaving gaps in our defense." He sighed and then added. "They're an echo of the problems we had on the Wall. A few strong strongholds or many weaker ones – what say you?"

The opinions were divided. Tormund and Lord Manderly went for many small ones in order to have eyes and ears everywhere, Lord Glover agreed with Jon himself. Lady Lyanna and Ser Davos were as yet undecided. Even with so few voices they had managed to reached a stand-still, Jon Snow thought a little bitterly. "Perhaps we should take it up again on the morrow," he said when the sun was setting. "Sleep on it. Tormund, I wish to have a word with you in private," he called out the Wildling leader as he asked him to stay behind.


	15. Chapter 15

_Brienne – at the feast_

Brienne was thinking about the new love in her life as she was watching Lady Sansa dance. There was a feast tonight for the guests. The reason they had come was not a happy one, yet a feast had been prepared nevertheless. Lady Sansa was enjoying herself and as Brienne looked at Tormund quietly enjoying his ale at the other end of the hall, she enjoyed herself too. She was feeling so happy she could sing, she thought. Not that she often sang; she enjoyed it but didn't like being stared at whilst singing. Somehow when she sang, she felt and sounded much more like a woman and Brienne herself was not the only one to notice that. Brienne wouldn't have minded dancing but who would dance with her? Tormund didn't dance and they had kept their relationship under wraps.

As the evening progressed and the ale flew, Brienne gazed in his direction a little more often than may have been wise. Perhaps that was the reason that Lady Sansa took her aside.

"What does it feel like?" she asked, with twinkling eyes, "to be in love?" Brienne blushed heavily. "My lady," she said, "does it show that clearly?"

Sansa laughed. "I'm afraid so," she giggled, suddenly seeming younger. "You've altered. As has he. You've got a bounce in your step and you smile much more often."

"He does make me happy," Brienne admitted. "I'll say that."

"Perhaps you should consider…" Sansa was suddenly serious, "confirming it. Officially, I mean. For the sake of the rumors," she added in an undertone. "It might be best."

"Wildlings don't always marry," Brienne replied. "There are not like us."

"He is on this side of the Wall," her Lady replied. "He should adhere to our customs. To yours."

Brienne nodded quietly. She had no idea how he would respond to this. The feast immediately became a little less cheerful.

* * *

 _Tormund – at the feast_

"People are talking," Jon Snow - whom the other leaders called the King of the North - had said. "I know you're trying to be careful, but nothing remains hidden for long. Not in a place like this."

Tormund had tried – and failed miserably – to get out of the interrogation, but Jon Snow had been quite brutal and blunt. Brienne was not some Wildling woman and he should stop treating her as such. That had been the long and short of it.

As the evening progressed, he noticed Brienne catching his eye often. Too often. Had Jon Snow not warned him he might have gone over. Shared an ale and a short talk, but now he couldn't. He clumsily raised his tankard to hers and nodded. Just friendly like. But once he had done so, he saw Ser Davos' stare and even Lady Lyanna's. "What?" he grumbled. Wasn't it long past her bedtime? He thought angrily.

"Tormund," Ser Davos carefully began when Lady Lyanna interfered – not carefully – "You shouldn't dishonor her so."

"If you were not…" he began, longing to draw his sword, growling at her. "If you had but been…"

"A man?" she sneered, scowling back at him. "You would have what?"

"Older," he said. "I've you had been older, I would have…" He shook his head, his eyes seething with anger. "I am _not_ dishonoring her," he hissed. "I love her – how can that be dishonorable?"

Ser Davos grabbed his arm and led him away from the young ruler of Bear Island.

"You know that is not what she meant," he said, sternly. "Lady Lyanna is worried on Lady Brienne's behalf. She is not the only one. Just do the honorable thing, will you?"

Tormund didn't much like being told what to do. He had always valued his independence. These Northerners from below the Wall with their strange customs and values. Why did they want him to follow them as well?

* * *

 _Brienne – in the courtyard the following morning_

Tormund had not visited her that night. The feast had been a long one yet Brienne had raised early. As she entered the courtyard it was near empty. In the far corner a horse was being fed and in another corner, Tormund sat on his own, staring into one of the fires.

Brienne thought it a stroke of good luck. Better do it right now, while you've still got the courage, she enthused herself. She strode towards him and asked him a certain question. However, it sounded rather more demanding than she had intended.

"You wish me to marry you?" he repeated her words. "Is that a command, my Lady?" he said jokingly, but she heard an edge to his voice. Brienne didn't smile back.

"I am serious," she said. "People are beginning to talk."

He grimaced. "People always talk," he shrugged. "When they've got nothing better to do."

"Don't you want to?" she asked, suddenly impatient. "Because I'd have preferred to have known that before I invited you into my chambers." She felt her cheeks beginning to redden.

He returned her stern gaze. "I'd wed you tonight if you wish," he said. "If it matters so much."

"It does," she replied. "But I want to inform my father first. Ask for his blessing."

He looked skeptical. "I'm not from some fancy house," he said. "What if he disowns you? Let sleeping dogs lie, I'd say."

"I couldn't," she simply said. "I wouldn't." Though she had no idea how she would find the words to inform him of this. Him and Ser Jaime. That thought was even worse. So far she had kept it silent in her ravens; she had hinted at it, very carefully, but nothing more.

"We should do it before your belly grows," Tormund said. "In fact, I think it already is."

Brienne startled. "What did you say?" she said. "Is it?" Her eyes grew wide. "Really?" She looked down in shock.

He shrugged. "I think so," he said. "I'm not sure. Then again, you did have quite a bit of that stew at the feast last night."

Brienne slapped him as Tormund laughed at her, roaring. "You frightened me!" she said. "You! Wildling."

But about two weeks later she realized he was, in fact, right. Her belly was growing. They had both seen it now, in the silence of her chambers. She didn't feel anything stir inside yet, but it was there. A slight swelling, nearly imperceptible, but unmistakably there.

* * *

AN: at guest: There will be a storyline about Jon and Daenarys but I don't think they'll become a pairing. It will be more about the war and such.


	16. Chapter 16

_Jaime – in the library_

Jaime was sorting out ancient Tarthian history. It was quite interesting and took him back to his enjoyment in reading the White Book or the Book of Brothers. These accounts were of warriors long lost. There was even a Brienne in there. She had been the mother of no less than five sons and had never taken up a sword. However, she was still fierce and probably one of Brienne's ancestors. She had killed a man by pushing him off the cliffs when he tried to attack her youngest son. Her youngest son had recalled the incident with pride when he entrusted his memories to his diary. The ancient stories gave color to his days, he thought. They made him forgot his worries about the War that was both ongoing and brewing. The North was still standing strong, but for how long?

Lord Selwyn came barging in and demanded he'd come with him. Jaime quickly followed him into one of the empty rooms hided in the alcoves of the library. They were small with just a table and some chairs; meant for study and contemplation. Jaime sometimes sought solitude in them and had even fallen asleep in one of them once or twice, pouring over books and papers. Clearly that would not happen today. Lord Selwyn's jaw was set. When the door closed behind them, Lord Selwyn tossed him a message. "Read it," he commanded. "Aloud." Jaime did.

"Dear Father and Ser Jaime," the short letter said. "Do not be alarmed. There is no manner in which I might convey my news with care, so I will not. As of today I am certain than I am with child and I intend to wed the father. He is honorable, strong, and loyal. Tormund is his name; Tormund Giantsbane. He may not be able to write but he can fight. He is also a Wildling who has formed an alliance with the King of the North. I'd like your blessing, Father, but will marry him regardless. I will not raise bastard children. Your advice was solid, Ser Jaime, and I thank you for it. Seven blessings to you both. Your daughter and friend, Brienne of Tarth."

Jaime swallowed hard. He had sensed she hadn't been forthcoming in her letters. But this? This was almost a betrayal. Almost, since he had told her to give him a chance. He closed his eyes. Why had he done that? How could he have been so foolish? Why had she taken him seriously? Jaime knew the answer to his last question. Brienne always took people on their word – even him. He had known that only too well; he was to blame for this mess himself.

"A Wildling," Lord Selwyn muttered. "Giantsbane, what kind of name is that?" He looked Jaime into the eye. "I had heard Lord Snow rode with Wildlings, calling himself King of the North these days. I did not believe these rumors but they seem to be true. My daughter and a Wildling," he hissed. "A brute from beyond the Wall. And with child already!"

Jaime nodded. "I'm as astonished as you are," he finally managed. "I had no idea."

Lord Selwyn peered at him. "Didn't you?" he said, raising his eyebrows, narrowing his eyes. "Give me the letter: I want to read it again," he barked and as Jaime saw Lord Selwyn's lips move, sentence after sentence, he realized what was to come.

"What advice?" Lord Selwyn asked him sternly as soon as he looked up. "Your advice was solid?" Jaime coughed. There it was. He scraped his throat. "Ah, yes, the advice," he replied, leaving it hanging in the air.

"Yes?!" her father locked him in his gaze, resembling an older version of Brienne herself. "On our departure," he began – careful to omit the clumsy fondling and kiss – "we discussed the matter of honor, in relation to, well, marriage."

Her father didn't blink and said, "pray continue."

"We came to the conclusion," Jaime said, "that Brienne was much more honorable in that respect than most. I'm sure you agree?"

Her father nodded, still waiting impatiently.

"A man had shown interest in her. Genuine interest. The experience was unknown to her. It caused her both discomfort and, well, pleasure too. To be noticed in such a way," he added quickly. "She wondered what to do."

"And your advice?"

"Ah, yes, the advice," he said, repeating himself. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "I implied that if she deemed the man worthy of her she might give him a chance."

Lord Selwyn eyed him wearily. "I'm sure you would," he said, not unkind yet still somewhat disgruntled. "And now she is with child and unwed to boot?"

"She is going to marry him though, isn't she?" Jaime defended himself. "That's what it says at least."

"Aye," her father said, "as long as it is true. Brienne has been known to spare me from inconvenient truths. I hope this is not one of those occasions."

Jaime swallowed hard. He hoped the same. As much as the idea of Brienne marrying another hurt him, the idea of her birthing a bastard in the cold North was even worse. He wouldn't wish that fate on anyone.


	17. Chapter 17

_Jaime – at home_

He had tried to keep the news from Suzanne but word soon spread across the isle that their ugly Lady was getting married after all. Lord Selwyn blamed his servants for spreading the rumor. And so Jaime found himself confronted with his own curious servant. "Is it true?" she said as she was boiling a nasty mixture for the elderly woman down the road. Suzanne had just told Jaime it was to help her sleep. Eternally. The woman had begged her too. Her husband had died some weeks ago and a fox had killed her only goat three days ago. It had been the last straw. Jaime had been slightly appalled at the idea, but Suzanne had only shrugged. She didn't mind helping people, she had said. They came to her for things like that because the maesters wouldn't do it.

"It's what the raven said," he mumbled. "Lord Selwyn fears she might not be wed after all and forced to raise a bastard."

"That would be hard on her – and on Lord Selwyn," Suzanne replied. "Let us hope this giant exists then."

Jaime chuckled despite himself. "He's not a giant," he said. "His name only harbors the word giant."

"That's not what I heard," Suzanne said, as she tasted the mixture. "It needs more salt," she noted.

Jaime startled. "You're tasting it?!" he said. "Do you have a death wish as well?"

Suzanne laughed. "It's perfectly fine," she said. "There's still a few ingredients missing; the more potent ones. Besides one small spoon wouldn't kill you to begin with. You need a cup at least, some need two."

"It's a medicine as well then," he gathered. "Two spoons to help dull the pain, two cups to take you from this earth."

"Indeed," she nodded. "You might have even had it yourself in the past."

"That's easily possible," he said, "though I've usually been offered milk of the poppy."

Suzanne raised her eyes. "That's pretty expensive. I'm not sure everyone would be able to afford it."

Jaime hadn't thought of that. He didn't often consider the poor. They simply existed; on the periphery of his own existence.

"You won't charge her," he said instead, "will you? For her own death. I could pay you some more this week." Jaime didn't mention that his supply of gold was steadily declining. Lord Selwyn didn't pay him and Tyrion couldn't risk sending him further supplies either.

"There's no need," she said. "The herbs are free; the water too. It's fine; I won't ask her for payment."

"Good," Jaime said. Since when had his heart gone all soft, he wondered. Since when did he care about old poor women?

"So he's not a giant," Suzanne returned to the previous subject. "Just a wild man."

"From beyond the Wall," he said. He shook his head. It was told that the people from beyond the Wall were harsh. They had no manners; they were truly wild. Yet the way Brienne had described this man had been very different. She thought them quite honorable. Pragmatic perhaps. Not so very unlike himself, Jaime thought.

"Ser Jaime," Suzanne said, "I probably shouldn't ask but…"

"You probably shouldn't," he said, "yet you probably will."

She grinned at him. "Since you so clearly don't object…." she teased, "I might as well."

He wearily looked into her eyes. "There's no stopping you," he said dramatically. "Alas, I've come to accept it."

"What will you do?" she urged him. "Will you do anything?"

"What can I do?" he replied with gritted teeth. "I told her to find someone else. Not to wait for me. I told her because, well, she was ready and I wasn't. She even propositioned me and I declined." He closed his eyes. Suddenly he felt so very tired. "I rejected her," he whispered. "I rejected her for the ghost of a monstrous woman stood in our way."

 _Suzanne – counseling Jamie_

Suzanne pit her lip. "You regret it," she softly said. "Now, that she is lost to you," she added. Perhaps she was being too harsh on him, she thought, but she knew he could take it. In her own experience highborns too often cared about honor too much. Far too much. Jaime would just accept the way things were. Suzanne wouldn't have. She never did. Seven hells, she was still secretly meeting the woman that had caused her latest downfall. It hadn't been her fault they'd got caught and her father had gotten upset. Some nights she'd sneak out and they'd meet somewhere on the hills or on one of the beaches. Suzanne never let a little something like society or honor stand in her way.

Jaime's eyes were dark and full of hurt. "I do regret it," he said. "I wasn't ready to fall in love again. I'd been so hurt already and I didn't want to risk it. And now… Now I wish to the gods that… I had kept my mouth shut. My stupid blabbering mouth."

"She believed you were sincere," Suzanne gathered and the pained look on his face conveyed his answer to that.

"I knew she would," he eventually replied. "I knew it and I still did it."

"I think that is another kind of love," she said. "A self-sacrificing one."

Jaime clearly did not want to hear it. "I'm not a hero," he said. "Honestly, Suzanne, it's the last thing I am."

She raised her eyebrows at him. "You're certainly a reluctant one," she grinned. "I know that much."


	18. Chapter 18

_Lord Selwyn – sending a raven_

Lord Selwyn was having the fifth restless night in a row. How could his only daughter and heir have made such an ill-conceived match?! And the Kingslayer giving her advice – the wrong kind of advice, no less. He felt like throwing him into sea, feeding him to the sharks after all. A wildling. A bloody wildling. The Kingslayer had said something about the wildlings appreciating warrior women. Something about them not punishing her for that particular wish of hers. Lord Selwyn had tried to discourage her daughter from it for as long as he could – it hadn't worked and he had finally caved in. When she couldn't find a suitor, he had let her leave and she had joined Renly's guard. Brienne was not his son, yet she made the kinds of decisions sons would. Like any wayward son, she had chosen her own mate. Lord Selwyn did not wish to forgive her. He wished for her to feel afraid of his wrath. At least, tonight he did.

The following morning, he was breaking fast. He received his weekly report from the Kingslayer's shadows and he enjoyed the freshly cooked eggs and the bread that was still warm. His thoughts turned again to his daughter. He looked about him at the serving women and thought: she has always been different. Obedient maybe but not like other women. She always knew her own mind – and often spoke it too. Lord Selwyn had been proud of that. His daughter thought like an independent son. Over the years, that became more and more important as she was his only heir. She is with child now, he thought. There will be an heir. The child will still be of Tarth. The wildling doesn't have a house of his own. Perhaps it will be a son, he thought. Perhaps a grandson of mine will rule in my stead, years from now. The thought made him smile a little. I will send her a raven, he thought. She deserves to know my response.

* * *

 _Brienne – in Lady Sansa's chamber_

On the morrow she would be wed. Brienne was both thrilled and upset. She hadn't heard from her father nor Ser Jaime yet. Brienne longed for their blessing but those chances might be slim. She stood in Lady Sansa's chambers in front of her mirror. Lady Sansa was fussing about, putting ribbons in her hair, taking them out again. It was starting to irk Brienne a little bit. "Let's just keep my hair the way it is," she pleaded, "please, Lady Sansa."

"Perhaps I've got a silver flower, hidden somewhere," Sansa said, not ready to give up yet.

"Lady Sansa," Brienne had to put in some effort to not sound sharpish. "It's is fine," she said. "The dress is lovely. It is warm and beautiful." It was. An off-white dress, with a woven pattern. Lots of fur. Tormund had shot and skinned a few snow-rabbits especially so she could use it in her dress. It suited Brienne well enough - for a dress.

"Perhaps you're right," Lady Sansa said, her eyes narrowing, "yet I do have one other idea…." Before Brienne could say anything Sansa had left her chambers in search of something or other. Brienne sighed. She looked at herself in the mirror. Her shoulders were broad, her bust smaller than you'd expect for a large woman. Her hair was still short, blond, mannish. She didn't want it long, it would too easily get stuck. It could be a risk during a fight. At least, Tormund doesn't care, she thought. Even if Lady Sansa does.

A knock on the door took her out of her thoughts. "You may enter," she said. The maester came in. "A raven came for you, Lady Brienne, just now." Brienne swallowed hard. A raven.

"Thank you," she said and she took the small paper. Her fingers trembled as she unfolded the message.

" My dearest daughter," it said. "I cannot pretend your news did not shake me. As your father, I would have wished to have a say in your choice of husband. Having said that, I have ever trusted your judgement. I wish I could travel to the North to witness him with mine own eyes but my place is here and the North is far away and growing colder each day from what I hear. I cannot leave our sunny isle, not in these trouble days. You have my blessing if only because I would not deny it to you. Please be well, my child, and consider your own. You mustn't fight in your delicate condition. As you are in the North and marrying a wildling, I will greet you thus: Go with the gods, my child, the old and the new. Lord Selwyn of Tarth."

A tear appeared in the corner of her eye. She quickly wiped it away. Ser Jaime had not written her yet but at least her father wasn't angry with her. Relief rushed through her body. She had her father's blessing after all. Brienne smiled at herself in the mirror. I can easily say my vows on the morrow, she thought, now that I know he doesn't truly object. The ceremony would be unlike any other. Old gods, new gods, and ancient practices; Tormund and Brienne had discussed it with the septon of Winterfell. He'd been reluctant at first, but finally had agreed. They would be wedded in the Godswood. The Starks served the old gods, though Lady Catelyn had served the Seven. Brienne served the Seven but Tormund did not: he served the old gods, like the Starks. Brienne was not ready to abandon her gods so easily so they had compromised. The ceremony would take place in front of the heart tree yet the septon would bless the union as well.

She heard Lady Sansa come back, her rushing feet. As she entered, Brienne saw that Sansa's cheeks were on fire. She was hiding something behind her back. "You will never guess what I've found," she said, with a large grin on her face. "It fits perfectly with your dress." Sansa told her to close her eyes and Brienne listened. When she opened them again, she was slightly taken aback. "Lady Sansa," she whispered. "You are right."


	19. Chapter 19

_Tormund – in the Godswood_

He wore his finest furs. Snow-rabbit and white fox. Tormund was in the Godswood long before he had too. Pacing around, praying, thinking about the future. She served other gods. Their child: what would become of their child? Which gods would it choose to serve? It might even rule the isle someday. Tormund had never been on a isle in his life. He had never seen the Narrow Sea. The Shivering Sea; that he had seen. Tormund shivered – not because of the cold – but because of his memories of the Shivering Sea: the White Walkers at Hardhome. It's your wedding day, he said to himself. Don't think about that now. Today should be a happy day. Some of the other free folk did not agree on his choice of wife but most had congratulated him. They were happy for some good news between all the bad. Tormund grinned. He could have done a whole lot worse for himself. Brienne was strong of body and sound of mind. All that he could wish for and more. They would love, fight, and die together, he thought. Side by side. Nothing mattered, he thought, as long as they were together.

Before long more and more people entered the Godswood. Lady Sansa was already seated, Lady Lyanna beside her, as were Ser Davos and all the other Lords. The septon came and took his place. Tormund began to feel nervous. It would happen soon. Any moment now.

People fell silent as Brienne approached at the King's side for her father was not present. A few of the men and women gasped. Tormund didn't see her yet, but the murmurs slowly grew. When Brienne finally stepped into sight, he realized why. It wasn't the fur-collared dress, beautiful though it was, but what she was wearing on her head. Over her head more like. A veil. A beautiful veil with a pattern of moons and stars – like her sigil – that seemed to subtlety change color as she walked. It was white but as she moved and the light shifted, it also looked like rippling silver or even the coolest of blue's. It matched her eyes. It matched her sigil. Like it was made especially for her.

They stood in front of the heart tree as the septon spoke the ancient words of the old gods first. "Who comes before the old gods this day?" The questions were answered as the King of the North gave Brienne away. After that, Tormund held her hand as they were bound together by a ribbon symbolizing their union in the face of the Seven. There had been no cloaking ceremony. When the rituals were done, Tormund kissed her in the sight of everyone – there was no longer any need for secrecy.

As he fell asleep, many hours later, Tormund was content. With the blessings of all the gods, how could their marriage not become a success?

* * *

 _Jaime – at the cliffs_

Jaime was staring. He didn't see the crashing of the waves on the rocks below; he didn't notice the seagulls screeching their songs. The sea no longer held the wonder it once did.

The rumors of her wedding day had reached Tarth. Lord Selwyn had accepted his daughter's choice, reluctantly, and given them his blessing. She had been married before old and new gods. It was as if the world had changed for good, Jaime thought. Brienne disregarding her honor – with child even before her wedding day. A wedding ceremony with gods of several faiths. Jaime shook his head. It was as if he didn't even know her anymore, he thought. A few tears dropped in his lap. He didn't wipe them away. There was no one to see. Even his guards hardly took the trouble to notice him. They were practicing their sword skills in the valley below, gazing up at him every other minute or so. I could slip off of the cliffs and be done with it, he thought. Who would even miss me?

He tried to sternly pull himself together. His life was full, he tried to convince himself. Full enough to go on. Lord Selwyn was right, he decided, rising again. Staring out onto the seas did make you mad. He called his dog and made his way back into the valley. Perhaps he should write Brienne. It was harsh no to.

"Dearest Lady Brienne," he wrote, a while later. "It has taken me some time to get used to the thought but I am glad for your fortunes. May you have a happy marriage blessed with children as fearsome as yourself. As ever, your friend, Ser Jaime Lannister."

It was all he could write. He only meant it with half his heart. The other half was aching far too much. Would this have happened if he had shared her bed? If he had taken her honor? He would never know and the not-knowing ate at him. She was out of his reach.

Both women he had loved were out his reach now. One living, one death. Yet he also lived with a woman. One who had come to his chambers that very first night, but never again. For a moment, Jaime contemplated it, but then he dismissed the idea. Perhaps he should keep his vows of chastity – now that he was no longer bound to them. It was oddly funny, he thought, in a bittersweet way. Jaime Lannister: chaste without vow. Who'd have thought?


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

AN: So, a slight change in canon in this chapter. Mostly to do with time, more on that at the end of the chapter.

* * *

 _Brienne – in the great hall_

Weeks turned into months and the child grew heavier and heavier. Brienne had stopped fighting. In the beginning she still had, but soon it had not been possible anymore. She was locked up with the women instead – doomed to stay behind. Instead of wielding a sword, she was now wielding a needle. Brienne was sowing clothes for the unborn baby. Soft fur for the cold winter. It wasn't easy to sow; she certainly preferred swords.

Queen Daenerys had turned towards the North as she had already taken everything else. The border was fragile and her troops had secured some small patches of borderlands for themselves. Tormund was not at Winterfell and she worried about him every day. He was due back in a few days; she had demanded he would be here when their child would enter the world. She could only hope he would keep his word.

"A rider!" Someone called out. Brienne got up and left the hall. A message from the front perhaps? Lady Sansa came and stood beside her, peering out onto the fields below. "Maybe the battle is already over," she said. Brienne was scarcely able to believe it. But as the rider approached, they could see he bore no banners. It wasn't a messenger at all. Beside the horse, ran a wolf. A direwolf – strong, big and fierce. Brienne felt a memory stir. The direwolf. That direwolf….

"It can't be…." Lady Sansa whispered beside her. "It can't be." She went pale and Brienne supported her back. "Is it truly my sister?" she said, as her knees buckled. "I thought she was dead." Brienne held Lady Sansa as she called for the Maester to assist her. She also called out for a guard.

"Lady Sansa thinks it may be her sister," she told him. "Lady Arya Stark."

"I thought she was dead," the guard said.

"As did everyone else," Brienne replied. "Yet who else would run with a dire wolf at their side?"

The guard nodded and began shouting commands. One of the guards was sent out to meet the rider. They had to be careful these days.

* * *

 _Arya Stark – approaching Winterfell_

After roaming the world for so long she was finally here. She could see its towers, its big walls. Home. Home at last. On her long road to get here, Arya had found out that the Bolton's had taken Winterfell. She had heard that her sister had been married to the son, Ramsey. She had heard vile rumors about him. But later the stories grew better. Lord Snow had become King of the North. Her brother Jon on had retaken Winterfell though her youngest brother, Rickon had died at Ramsey's hand.

Winterfell was finally theirs again; like it should. When she had heard that news Arya had ridden as fast as she could, but she had to be careful with all the troop movements around her. She could not afford to be caught. Her skills in changing faces, however, helped her a lot. She could get out of situations that others couldn't.

When she had just crossed the border of the North, one night the sound of wolves had woken her up. Wolves, she thought, or was it just a wolf? Arya had climbed into a tree, just in case, and had waited patiently. After about half an hour, something approached. Slowly but surely. Barely making a sound, hardly any rustling of leaves. In the dim moonlight it had been hard to see. Arya had to peer but what she saw gladdened her heart. It was a direwolf. Yellow eyes stared up at her. "Nymeria?" she had whispered and the direwolf had softly growled. Arya had been a little unsure. What if it was another direwolf? Still, she let herself slide out of the tree and the direwolf sprang towards her. She wasn't fast enough to grab her dagger or her sword. There had been no need either.

The direwolf had licked her like a common dog. It was Nymeria. After all these years. It had been the most wonderful reunion. An echo of a better time. Perhaps an omen of a better time to come? Arya was too bitter to believe such things, but if it were true, that would be most welcome.

And now she was almost home. Nearly there. Arya saw the gates open as a rider emerged. He motioned for her to stay put and Arya obeyed. As the guard rode towards her, the direwolf came to stand beside her. "It's all right, Nymeria," she said. "He's a friend."

"Who goes there?" the guard called out as he was within range. "State your business."

"I'm Lady Arya Stark," she said, "and I have come home. Winterfell belongs to my family."

"So it does." The guard grinned at her. He was young, she saw, and she didn't know him. "Welcome home, my Lady," he said. "Your sister will be very pleased to see you."

"And my brother?" she asked. "Is Jon not here?"

"The King is fighting at the borderlands," he replied. "He is due back in a fortnight, perhaps less. We thought you were a messenger for a moment, but that would have been far too early."

Arya nodded. "It has been too long," she said. "I've been on the road, travelling for so long, that I've forgotten what it is like to be home somewhere." She could hardly believe herself being so open to someone she didn't know at all. Perhaps it was being home at last that made her do so.

* * *

AN: So, according to the ending of season 6, I'd take a wild guess that Arya should have gotten to Winterfell a lot sooner than she does in this fic. Anyway, just a minor change to TV canon.

At guest coque: thanks for the review! It's supposed to be a bit of a sad and heart-wrenching story. For some reason, I really like writing them.


	21. Chapter 21

AN: Thanks for reviews, follows and favorites!

* * *

 _Sansa – greeting her sister_

As Arya slowly rode nearer, Sansa recovered. Brienne and the Maester were holding her. "It does appear to be your sister, my lady," Brienne said, grinning like a mad woman. "She will be here soon."

"I thought she was dead," Sansa whispered. "I had resigned myself to never seeing her again. And the direwolf too. Nymeria. Nymeria has found her again. After all these years!" She almost shrieked. It was too much all at once. Too much to comprehend. Too much to feel. Sansa was happy but anxious at the same time. Arya and Sansa had had their problems in the past. Would they even get along?

As her sister rode through the gate Sansa saw that it was truly her. Older, much more hardened, but still her sister. Her dark hair, her dark eyes. The cocky expression in them; still quite unwilling to accept easy answers.

"Arya," she said, "You're here."

"Yes," her sister answered. "Who would have thought?" she smiled. "It still looks the same." She dismounted and walked towards her. Sansa opened her arms for an embrace. Her sister was still so skinny, she felt as they hugged each other.

"Winterfell itself hasn't changed much," she said as she held her younger sister. "I'm afraid everything else has though." It was hard not to cry and the words almost got stuck in her throat.

"Yes," Arya said. "It has."

"You've met Brienne, haven't you?" Sansa said, introducing her. "Some time ago?"

Arya's eyes narrowed. "I have," she replied carefully, noticing her belly. "You were in armor back then," she remarked, a smile on her lips.

Brienne laughed. "Indeed, I was," she replied, "and I do intend to get into armor again.

Sansa was a little taken aback by that. "You do?" she said, "But, you'll… You'll be a mother."

Both Brienne and Arya smirked at her. "One does not exclude the other," Arya said, "Am I right?"

"Precisely," Brienne said. "I sure hope it does not."

Sansa shook her head. "I don't think I will ever understand you two," she said, sighing a little. They made her feel like the odd one out.

Arya shrugged. "Someone has to be the Lady of Winterfell," she said. "And I won't be her."

That made Sansa smile. "You never did," she said. "Not even when we were very little."

"Some things haven't changed after all then," Arya grinned.

Sansa smiled back. "That's good to know," she said.

* * *

 _Jaime - at home_

As soon as he came home, Jaime noticed something was amiss. He heard howling and the kitchen had been smashed. Herbs and potions lay splattered on the floor and the pots and pans were broken and smashed to pieces. The howling changed into soft sobs and came from Suzanne's room. Jaime knocked on her door and she told him to enter. Suzanne was lying on her bed crying her eyes out.

"What happened?" he whispered. "It's as if an army has crossed our kitchen."

"That was me," she said. "I was so upset."

"Why?" he asked. "What possessed you?"

"She'd dead," Suzanne said. "She was found at the bottom of the cliffs this very morning. No one has seen what has happened."

"Your … friend?" he gathered. "The one that…"

"My lover, yes," she said. "The one that caused the scandal. We've been meeting in secret for months. And I don't know… I don't know if that's what killed her." She looked up at him, her eyes red-rimmed. "It might have," she whispered. "Perhaps I am to blame."

He took her hand. "Don't go there, Suzanne," he said, "I beg you. Believe me, I know."

She looked at him, peering into his face. "You mean your sister?" she said.  
"I mean my children," he said. "With my daughter I was there, but there was nothing I could do. And with my son, my youngest… If only I had been there…" he said. "But thinking such things will break your heart. It's not a way to live, nor to mourn. It's not, Suzanne." She bit her lip and slowly nodded. "Perhaps you're right," she said. "I will find out the truth though." He saw her jaw tighten and a dark look appeared in her eyes. "I will," she repeated.

"I'll help you," he said. "You deserve to know the truth."

It wouldn't be easy, he knew. These things were hardly ever clean-cut.

* * *

 _Ser Davos – riding back to Winterfell_

The King of the North had ordered them to ride back home. Ser Davos, Tormund and a number of soldiers – Northerners and wildlings both. The fighting lasted longer than they had expected and Tormund had grown weary. Ser Davos thought Tormund was lucky to be granted such an exception. He hadn't knelt for the King of the North and it had been accepted without question. He longed to be present when his child was born and it was granted. Ser Davos almost wondered if it was sorcery, like the Red Woman had had her hold over Stannis. But he knew this wasn't the case. It was a matter of respect, mutual respect and admiration. The wildlings – the Free Folk – strongly valued their independence and even as King, Jon Snow still understood that.

"I hope I'm not too late," Tormund said, as he spurred on his horse. "Brienne will have my head for it."

Ser Davos laughed. "I think she will understand," he said, "Brienne always struck me as the calm and reasonable sort."

"You'd say that," Tormund muttered back, the words almost getting muffled in both his beard and the sharp wind, "but when she's provoked… Well, you wouldn't want to see that."

Ser Davos grinned. "The perils of marriage," he said, "Don't tell me they're not worth it."

At that Tormund laughed too. "They are indeed," he said, showing all his teeth.

They had been sent back to begin regrouping, strategizing. Soon a bigger battle would come. The battle. These small skirmishes on the border were only the beginning. They had won some; they had lost some. Ser Davos had only glimpsed dragons in the far distance. He'd been fortunate enough to be at the battles where the Queen herself was not. The stories he had heard from the soldiers who had been present had curdled his blood. Fire that melted iron, stone. Fire that seared people away, like meat falling of the bone. It had reminded him of the curse of wildfire. It also brought back haunting memories of the Red Woman. Her obsession with fire, with killing that way. Ruthlessly. The murder of Shireen. The dark shadow that was said to have killed Renly.

"She was there, wasn't she?" he suddenly whispered. "Brienne was accused of having killed Renly."

"It was magic. Dark magic." Tormund replied. "A shadow of some sort."

Ser Davos nodded. "Magic," he spat. "It always comes down to magic. The terrors beyond the wall. The fire of dragons."

He noticed Tormund staring at him, incredulously. "What?" he snapped. "I just long for a fair fight for a change."

Tormund shrugged. "Fair fights don't exist," he said. "If life was fair, we wouldn't have to fight."

Ser Davos shook his head, privately smiling at the simple – yet true – logic. That was wildlings for you, he thought.

"We just have to make sure we win," Tormund said. "Fair or not."

"Aye," Ser Davos replied and as he heard the wind howling even louder, he also spurred on his horse.


	22. Chapter 22

_Brienne – becoming a mother_

Tormund had been home only for a few hours when the pain began. Brienne had been told what to expect, but experiencing it was quite another matter. She twisted in agony in her bed as the contractions began to increase in both number and pain. Brienne hadn't thought it would be this bad. She failed to notice the worrying looks between the Maester and his servant. Tormund held her hand and she almost broke his bones with her tight grip. "What is happening?" she said when the Maester told Tormund to leave. He wouldn't budge and the Maester didn't dare to say it again.

"The child has…" the Maester began. "The chord is around its neck." Brienne began to panic.

"It might cause problems," the Maester said, "but do not worry yet, my Lady, it often does not."

Brienne tried to calm done; to breathe calmly. It helped to look at her husband and not at the Maester. Their eyes held each other's gaze and Brienne found some peace within herself.

A few hours later, the ordeal was over. The child lived and it was a boy. The chord had been removed and he breathed and cried: a healthy newborn. "So we've agreed on the name then?" Brienne asked Tormund as she held the little boy in her arms. The few hairs on his head were as red as his father's. Like fire, Brienne thought. Her firstborn son would have Selwyn as his second name, yet another as his first. Berinheart. Berinheart Selwyn Giantsbane – or Berinheart of Tarth. In a way it was both true, she thought. He might inherited her father's place at Tarth someday, yet he could just as easily end up beyond the Wall. Brienne didn't want to think about these things yet. Not now, not when there was still so much at stake.

"He will need a bear's courage: born in times like these," Tormund said. "Let us hope it won't become another Long Night." His face looked worried.

Brienne nodded. "It will be a hard winter but at least we are together. We are with three now," she said, smiling at her husband, and taking his hand. "He will have us to help and guide him."

Tormund smiled back. Today was a good day.

* * *

 _Lord Selwyn – receiving the news_

"It's a boy, a healthy boy," he told anyone who was willing to listen when a raven bearing the news had arrived. "A grandson." A grandson at last. He couldn't be more proud of his daughter. "Berinheart of Tarth," he kept mumbling. "Berinheart of Tarth."

Eventually he found himself in the library where the Kingslayer was, together with that despicable servant of his, Suzanne. They were whispering and pouring over maps he saw. Maps of Tarth.

"Planning an invasion, are you?" he sneered as he noticed Jaime close the map when he approached them. The Kingslayer laughed. "With what army?" he said, "Westeros is under Targaryen rule once more. Alas."

"I've had a raven," Lord Selwyn said. "A grandson. Berinheart. Berinheart of Tarth."

"Let us hope he will live up to his name," Suzanne said kindly. Lord Selwyn didn't like that. "Of course, he will!" he spat. "The child is my blood!"

He saw the Kingslayer smile. "At least the North still stands," he said.

"Aye," Lord Selwyn replied. "Hopefully The King of the North will continue to live up to his name. They say he defeated death itself."

"It is rare but not unheard of," Suzanne muttered. "Death is not always the end."

Lord Selwyn wondered if he could get this woman out of the library. She had insulted one of his closest advisors with her love affair. His daughter had died recently. Fell off of a cliff. Or jumped perhaps? Had she jumped because of this witch?!

"More oft than not it is though," he said. "In light of the good news, you will be welcome at my table tonight, Kingslayer," he said. "A celebration is a bad time for grudges."

"Thank you, Lord Selwyn," he replied. Lord Selwyn did not extend the courtesy to the witch. She deserved a pyre, not a celebratory meal.

* * *

 _Jaime – in the library_

He saw Brienne's father leave. A son. A grandson. Healthy and with a fine name. Jaime thought he would be jealous, but he found that he was not. It was good news for a change. It made him smile. "He saw the map," Suzanne muttered beside him. "Do you think he suspects anything?"

"He's far too busy thinking about his lineage," Jaime replied. "He wanted a grandson. I don't think I would have been invited had it been a girl."

"Hardly uncommon," Suzanne said. "Heritage is important."

"Is it?" Jaime figured Suzanne of all people might feel differently. "My father," he began, purposefully not meeting her eyes, "cared more about his name, our name, than about us. It didn't matter if we were happy or not; as long as the House stood to gain. My sister was married to a brute, I was used as a pawn in several ways, and our brother, well, he never could do anything right in his eyes to begin with."

"You didn't look at your children that way?" Suzanne asked.

"They were Baratheons, not Lannisters, and Cersei only ever allowed me to be their uncle, nothing more. But no, I didn't look at them that way. I just wanted them to be glad and enjoy life while they could." He swallowed hard. "They were not even granted that during their short lives. Tommen… To die like that, when you are still so young... "

Suzanne put a hand on his arm. "You were a better father than your own was," she said, "at least, you truly cared."

He shook her hand of. "I'm not sure about that," he said gruffly. "I couldn't save them. I couldn't do anything for them."

"You had their best interests at heart," she said firmly. "Not all parents do. Some sell their children into slavery, some sacrifice them to the Gods. Not all parents behave like parents."

"What were yours like?" he asked, "Are they still alive?"

"My mother is," Suzanne replied. "My father died a long time ago."

"Does your mother also live here on Tarth?" he asked. Suzanne shook her head.

"I wasn't born here," she said. "I was brought here when I was very young. My father gave me to his sister to be raised by her. My mother was… She was married to another and wasn't allowed to keep me. She was lucky not to be killed by her husband. My father died at sea; my mother is alive but I've never spoken to her. My aunt won't tell me much about her, just that she lives and is well."

"Can't you pressure her into revealing more?" Jaime asked.

Suzanne shrugged. "It doesn't matter much, does it?" she replied. "My aunt was good to me. I hardly knew my parents yet I had a good childhood."

"So your aunt taught you about herbs?" he gathered.

Suzanne laughed. "She did indeed. She taught me all she knew. She's frail but still has her wits about her."

"If it was me I'd want to know," Jaime said, "no 'fence."

She smiled at him. "I rather decide who I am myself," she said, "unburdened by history."


	23. Chapter 23

_Tyrion – in the encampment_

Daenerys wasn't the kind of Queen who stayed behind, ruling from the Throne, hidden away in the capital. No, she went wherever the war took her. And so it had taken them here. Into the borderlands. The Northerners put up a good fight and it was getting to her, he could tell. The dragons could only be in one place at the same time; without the dragons, her victories were not as sure as she would have wished. Tyrion wished only one thing. To be back in his own bed, to be back in King's Landing. He had enough of war encampments. He was useless here. Completely useless and so hardly a day went by when he did not beg her to send him back. Be her Hand back home and keep an eye on things. She grew impatient of his questions, prickly too. Tyrion realized he needed to tread carefully.

"Don't ask me again," she said, as he arrived in her tent. Missandei smirked.

"I won't, my Queen," he said, sighing. "You seem to want my presence."

"I do," she replied. "Your advice is needed here, not at the capital."

She was a conqueror, Tyrion thought, not a ruler. "As you bid, my Queen," he said.

"We need a way to smash there Northerners into the dust. Or the snow, if they prefer." She laughed. "I want a large battle, not a small one. And I've found the perfect battlefield." She pointed to the model of a battlefield taking up much space in her tent. "I'll gather my forces and will either wait for them to come to me, or I will lure them out," she said, a large grin on her face. "Their forces against my Unsullied. Their direwolves against my dragons." Tyrion saw she didn't doubt winning such a stand-off.

"How will you lure them?" he asked. "Surely they.." he searched for the right word, "are pleased with the current situation and will not easily persuaded to change their strategy."

"We will either have to offer them something or threaten them into coming."

"A hostage of some sort?" he wondered. "I don't think bribery will get us far. The Starks are much too stern for that. Easy pleasures do not sway them easily." He smiled. "Unlike they do me," he said, winking at Missandei – another example of stern severity. "I'm well-known for my pursuit of them."

"Perhaps," Daenerys said, a frown appeared on her face. "Surely there will be something we can offer them."

"A traitor perhaps?" Tyrion said. "For them to punish?"

"See," Daenerys said, "You're wasted in the capital. You belong at my side."

Tyrion smiled at her. Not happily. Mud, horses, and nothing but soldiers to surround him: not his idea of fun.

"I do," he said, "You're right."

"Of course," she said. "A Queen is never wrong."

* * *

 _Sansa – listening to strategies_

"She refuses to engage us!" Lord Glover hissed. "They stay in their camps. They don't try to reach the villages anymore, nor the nearby forts." His face was growing red. Lady Sansa sat quietly next to her half-brother, listening to the men speak. Arya sat next to him on the other side. Sansa knew she was allowed to speak if she wished, yet her misplaced trust in Petyr Baelish had not yet been forgotten. She thought she could play him, like he had done her, since he had taken a fancy to her. Instead he'd ran off to the Vale taking some of their secrets with him. He had almost succeeded in bringing her with him, had Brienne not seen her saddle her horse and taken her back to her chambers. Sansa still blushed even thinking about it. He had told her she should be Queen of the North; that she was the Stark, not Jon. It was true enough, but he'd done it solely for his own gain. To get her to come along, to gain her trust and learn some of Winterfell's secrets. Sansa hadn't told anyone about that part: her true betrayal. She had not been the quiet and naïve girl they all thought – she had wanted the North for herself. She knew Jon would never suspect that, better he'd think her young and foolish. Sansa looked at Brienne who sat next to Tormund. Berinheart was already sound asleep and guarded by his wet nurse; the council didn't gather until the evening as they had awaited some scouting reports first. Their little boy was growing fast, she thought, nearly getting too big for his crib. She smiled. Perhaps he did have giant's blood, she thought.

"She wants us to come to her," Lord Manderly agreed. "One large battle instead of small ones: we shouldn't let her."

Arya stirred. Jon stayed calm. Sansa was becoming nervous. The Queen's strategy seemed to be working as discord was beginning to brew in their ranks. The soldiers were getting restless because their leaders didn't decide on a course. And now they were all gathered here, trying to decide once more.

Arya coughed. "Do we have a reasonable chance?" she posed the question. "If we do engage her? We are with many. Will the dragons really decide the battle? Dragons can be killed."

"I think we should meet her in the field," Lady Lyanna spoke, brave as always. "If we don't – dragons or not – eventually we will be branded as craven."

Ser Davos shook his head. "They are being coy – craven so you will, at the moment. The Dragon Queen knows she may get the upper hand. She will wait; she has time. We shouldn't let her dictate our decisions."

"Yet," Arya replied, "As Lady Lyanna mentioned, we cannot wait forever. We will meet her in a large battle at some point or other – it will be unavoidable in the end – better sooner than later, I say. While we still are with many, while we still are strong!"

Some of the men cheered, clearly agreeing with her sister. The small battles would eventually take their toll too. Others mumbled and shook their heads: what chance did they have on the open field?

As people all across the room started to whisper among themselves, the door flew open. Another scout – one who hadn't been expected until morning – came in. He was pale and fell onto his knees. "They are coming," he said, trembling, a scroll in his right hand. "She has send her terms. I was ambushed – I thought I was a dead man – but I was allowed to leave bearing this message." His left hand carried her Mark.

* * *

 _Jon Snow – in the council room forced to decide_

"What does it say?" everyone asked. The letter contained a long litany of complaints and demands.

"We won't meet her terms," he finally spoke. "She has interrogated Baelish and knows some of Winterfell's secrets. Though not which ones." His laugh was harsh and his voice was solemn and he purposely did not glance at Sansa. His sister had thought she could play at this game of deceit but it had backfired. He only half-blamed her. She had tried to help – in her own misguided way. "We'll ride to war," he finally stated. "There's no need to discuss it anymore; we won't accept these terms." She didn't even promise to make him Warden of the North. She didn't even acknowledge his claim, nor that of either of his sisters. All the letter said was that if they surrendered they wouldn't die but their lives would be spared. Clearly she thought she was going to win. These weren't true terms; these were insults. "The Dragon Queen imagines we will roll over and die!" He raised his voice. "I say NO to that! What do you say?!" The room roared. They wouldn't let her insult them. "Kill those dragons!" Someone shouted and within moments it became a chant. "Death to the Dragons and their Mother."


	24. Chapter 24

_Brienne – riding to war_

She'd fought with Tormund about it. Brienne had started fighting, practicing her sword skills not long after Berinheart had been born. She did want to keep her strength, her agility. Tormund didn't mind her practicing, but riding to war, was another matter. Brienne had gotten very angry with him. Didn't wildling women fight as much as men did? Yes, they did, but what of their child? Brienne wouldn't have it and finally he'd conceded. Their side needed all the warriors they could get, even new mothers. She glanced at him as he rode beside her. "We'll be there at nightfall," she said, and with a quiver in her voice, "and then, on the morrow…"

"It begins," he said darkly. "We are with many, but so is she." He stared in the distance. Brienne nodded as she swallowed hard. She wished it was different; that she'd be able to raise her child amidst peace instead of turmoil. Yet it was not for her to decide.

That night Brienne slept in his arms, wondering right before she fell asleep if they'd survive the next day. If any of them would.

* * *

 _The King of the North – on the battlefield_

The lines were drawn. The earth was patiently awaiting to receive the blood of the fallen. Both armies had spears and archers, plenty of cavalry, all ready and eager to strike. Jon Snow was restless. It was not what they had that concerned him. It was what they hadn't. Three dragons circled the field. His army might defeat hers but for the dragons. Daenerys herself was airborne on one of them. She rode the black one. Jon Snow closed his eyes. You've fought harder battles than this one, he thought. You will succeed. You will have to; you owe it to the North. He urged his army to wait; to prolong the attack. Jon Snow wanted to suss her out so he could get a glimpse of her strategic skills. He swallowed hard. Soon he would know for sure what devastation her dragons could bring. How many men would he lose? Good men, fine men; would they'd be able to recover? He heard her shout to her beasts as if ordering them to attack. He called his men to arms, to protect themselves, to shield themselves. One of the dragons, green scaled, came swirling down; it was heading straight for him! Jon Snow did not wish to die this way. He raised his sword: ready to defend himself, his horse, his kin, his army and his realm. If he were to die facing a dragon, he would die with honor. He would die fighting.

The dragon landed right in front of him. It was ghastly. Its eyes were dark and piercing. Jon had faced evil creatures before but this… This was beyond compare. He expected the dragon to roar at any second, to roast him and his men. But the dragon did nothing – or rather it seemed to settle down – almost like a cat by the fire. The dragon sat on the field like it was caring for precious eggs. Jon was puzzled as was Daenerys who was still circling them. She was shouting in a language he didn't understand yet it seemed the dragon didn't either. It didn't pay her any attention. Its wings folded back and it simply sat there. Jon looked at his sisters, flanking his side, and his bannermen.

"What's the meaning of this?" he mumbled. Some of them retreated a little, others shrugged.

"There haven't been dragons in these parts for centuries," Lord Glover said. "We knows as much as you do, my king." He grinned nervously. "Precisely nothing, that is."

Jon smirked briefly, but then he frowned again. "We can't go to battle like this," he muttered. "The beast is in the way."

The beast seemed to hear him. It's penetrating eyes touched his soul somehow. Suddenly Jon knew what to do. He dismounted his horse and approached the dragon. He could hear Sansa gasp and Lady Lyanna shout: "No!"

It was as if an invisible force pulled him towards this gigantic beast. He stood beside it, a lump in his throat and very gently touched its green skin. The dragon shuddered and closed its eyes. Jon was again reminded of a cat; a spinning cat. He closed his own eyes for a minute and touched the beast once more. He felt the urge to mount it, yet it was the strangest idea he had ever had. Stranger than joining the Night's Watch, stranger than setting out to kill Mance Rayder. Softly he stroke the hard scales. The beast let him like a common pet. He seemed even tamer than Ghost. Jon didn't know what to think of it. He slowly moved closer and felt the courage – or was it madness – rise in his chest. He would mount the dragon. He felt that he should. Perhaps he truly could!

Jon heard the soldiers on both sides gasp as he mounted the giant beast. It sat comfortable enough, not as good as a saddled horse obviously, but well enough to keep in place. He could hear the Dragon Queen scream. "Dracarys," he thought she kept on shouting, but nothing happened. The dragon lazily began to stir. His large body began to move, its orange hued wings unfolded, and as it stood on its legs, Jon rose with him. For a moment, the dragon stood still, arrogantly overlooking the troops. Then he took to the air. Jon firmly dug his fingers into the dragon's neck and resisted the urge to close his eyes. He was airborne! Jon could feel the cold wind in his hair. This dragon began to circle as well and as he met Daenerys high up in the air above both their armies far down below, he shouted at her: "Perhaps we should parley?"

Jon saw that she could do nothing but grit her teeth and accept his suggestion. Her eyes were wide with shock – as surely his own were too – and she kept saying: "Why? How?"

Jon shrugged. "I don't know," he said. "I truly don't know why."

There would not be a battle today. Both he and Daenerys had informed their troops. They would parley first – such a strange occurrence needed to be discussed and possibly understood – for the sake of both their kingdoms and people. Jon had noticed the relief on his people's faces. War had torn their countries for so long – everyone longed for peace. For even a sliver of a chance of peace.


	25. Chapter 25

_The King of the North – in his tent with his sisters_

Everyone had finally settled down. Perhaps not entirely. The dragon that Jon had flown did not join the Dragon Queen as she left the battlefield. The other two did. But 'his' dragon did not. It sort of stuck to Jon's side – in a manner of speaking. It stayed right outside their camp and flew on and off as it pleased. No one dared venture near it, yet it didn't harm anyone of their army either. Jon was still amazed at the events of that day as he ate his evening meal with his sister. He'd invited only them, for the moment, wishing for some privacy after a long day.

They ate in silence, until Sansa broke it. "Who do you think will be the third rider?" Sansa asked her brother. Jon had no idea.

"Do you think there will be another one?" he replied. "I don't see who could be."

"I think there will be," his other sister said. "Three dragons thus three riders."

"Like in the stories of old," Sansa whispered. "But who will it be? And why did it choose you? Do you think dragons have…. foresight of some kind?" She finally posed, sighing. "I know it sounds ridiculous," she said, "but still…"

"How do you mean?" Jon asked. "Foresight of what?"

"The battle in the North," she said. "The last one that we will win or lose – and if we lose…" She didn't finish her thoughts.

"Dragon's fire would help," Arya said. "Like Valerian steel and dragon glass. If the parley has a good result, perhaps you could cooperate somehow."

"I don't see it," Jon Snow said, more pessimistic. "She hands out these Marks for her own enjoyment it seems. She sounds quite cruel to me, to be honest."

"You'll have to try," his youngest sister urged. "You owe it to every one of us."

"I know that," Jon grumbled. "And I will. I just don't think she'll be very open to it, is what I'm saying." He picked at his meat. Even the soft and tender chicken didn't taste well today. "I wish I knew why it has chosen me," he said. "I thought I was about to be torched, this morning, but instead I saw the country from the sky!" His eyes lit up for a brief moment. "It was wonderful," he said, "thrilling but so unreal as well."

Arya suddenly looked rather strangely at him he noticed. "All the dragon riders from the past," she said, "they were, well, they were related to each other."

Jon almost choked in his wine. "What did you say?" he said. "How could I? Where did you get that idea?"

"It's history, that's all," she shrugged. "And you don't know who your mother is…"

Jon shook his head. "She was some unknown someone. Just someone father met during the war. Surely I would have blond hair, had she been a Targaryen?" He smiled uneasily.

Arya didn't let it go though. "Father never told you?" she pushed. "He never told you even the slightest bit?"

Jon bitterly shook his head. "He said he'd tell me the next time we'd meet," he said, "when I saw him last." He thought back at that poignant moment. "Father," he suddenly said, "it did seem as if it was important though. Like he felt that I did have a right to finally know; that I was a man now and deserved the truth."

"See," Arya said, "He did want you to know because she wasn't just some… woman."

* * *

 _Tyrion – in his tent_

The three Starks were not the only ones who wondered about an eventual third rider. Tyrion did as well. A thought had entered his mind the moment he had seen Jon Snow take to the air. A conversation – long ago – where he had asked Daenerys' interpreter, Missandei, if the dragons were hostile towards her. They were not and Tyrion had been foolish enough to enter their den and free them. Free the remaining two as Daenerys and the one she flew – Drogon– had been gone for quite a while. The dragons had not harmed him and Tyrion had taken this as a sign of their intelligence. He had assumed they had realized that he was friend of hers and had therefore been friendly to him in return. But, now, he was not so sure….

His father had said something. It was quite a while ago now. "I raised you _as_ my son." He'd wanted to kill him the moment he'd been born – get rid of the little monster – yet he had not. He did not say: you were my son and, therefore, I kept you alive. He had said: "I raised you _as_ my son," casting doubt on whether or not he was, in fact, his son. Tyrion hadn't thought too much of it at the time. He since long knew his father hadn't wanted nor liked him, yet it was a strange way of putting it. Perhaps it was not just his mother's death that his father had resented. Perhaps it was not just his being an imp. Perhaps there was something else going on as well. There had been rumors. Rumors he had disregarded. It seemed there were always rumors about his family. About his parentage. About Joffrey's –which had in fact been true – about any number of things. Tyrion had long since decided to not listen to them. Rumors would always poison minds and hearts. They existed to sow doubts; that was their only true purpose. His father had never believed the vile rumors about Jaime and Cersei, even when the truth of it had stared him in the face. Tyrion knew his father had been good at deluding himself that way. Perhaps he had also deluded himself about this. Perhaps those rumors had been true after all.

Tyrion knew there would be one way of telling the truth. Perhaps he should try to ride a dragon as well. He laughed out loud, all by himself. Him! Riding a dragon, when he found horses to be high enough. Yet if he somehow had a drop of Targaryen blood inside him, perhaps it would come quite easily to him. Tyrion looked at his empty cup of wine – it had been his fifth – and he briefly wondered if it had been the wine that gave him such strange and unsettling thoughts.

* * *

AN: Despite there being a bit of focus on Jon Snow in thise chapters, the story does not revolve about him or about him and Dany. I don't intend for them to become a couple, but they will have some interaction with each other during the War.


	26. Chapter 26

_Daenerys – the following morning: in her tent seeking council_

Daenerys was seething. This was a defeat! In her mind it had been so simple. Her dragons would put the fear of the Gods into these Northerners' hearts. They'd run the moment one – or all of them – would burn their so-called King to the ground. With him gone, the North would be open to her, or at least, disheartened and much easier to defeat. But now she had to answer to this!

"Where is Tyrion? Perhaps he can bring light onto these matters!" she snapped at one of her hand maidens.

"He has not yet left his tent, my Queen," they said. "The spectacle seemed to have shocked him."

"Nonsense," she replied. "Tyrion is quite familiar with my children. I bid him to come at once." One of her guards set out to retrieve him. Moments later he arrived as she spat her questions at him.

"My dear Queen," he moaned in reply, "please… My poor head." He protectively cradled it in his hands.

Daenerys was stern with him. "You should drink less," she all but commanded. "I need you sharp."

Tyrion nodded dutifully.

"So it seems that for some reason, though only the Gods know why, Rhaegal has decided to let this … this so-called _King_ ride him. And even now…. Rhaegal isn't here, but there, right outside _his_ tent!"

Tyrion scraped his throat. "I believe, well, I think, this leads me, at least, to believe…."

"Don't spare me," she hissed at him. "Tell me!"

"The only explanation I can give is that, somehow, someway, he must have Targaryen blood," he replied, coughing as the words nearly stuck in his throat. "Some wine, please," he said, motioning for yet another cup. Daenerys gestured to her handmaiden to give him some. He was incorrigible.

"The thought had crossed my mind," she whispered, "but I don't see how… " For a second, she fell silent and then continued: "yet I can't see another explanation either."

"The dragon riders of old were siblings or relations of one another, always," Tyrion said. "I don't know of any exceptions. The only other explanation I might have is that they could sense something about him: something that makes him friend instead of foe. But then what would make him friend instead of foe, and how would your dragons know? It leads us straight back to the question of ancestry."

"A reason for them to spare him," she muttered, letting it sink in. "Still, sparing him is quite something else than granting him a flight."

Tyrion could only agree. "It's a far cry from mere sparing someone," he said, "and – with your permission – " He waited for her nod, before he went on. "All of us here know that your dragons don't tend to spare people – they kill and eat both at your command and of their own accord."

Daenerys narrowed her eyes. "Not even their Mother has full control over them," she said, somewhat begrudgingly. "They are wild beasts and cannot be ruled as such."

"That's what makes it so puzzling," he agreed. "John Snow should not be alive. Rhaegal should have and easily could have devoured him, and yet, he chose not to. So there must be a reason."

"Is there any way," Daenerys began hesitantly, "any way at all that might make _him"_ \- she turned up her nose - "him related to me?"

Tyrion sighed deeply. "There might be," he replied.

Daenerys gasped. "There truly is?" she asked. "How?"

"It's rather fitting considering we're talking about Rhaegal here," Tyrion smirked, "who is named after your brother after all."

"I don't see how this has anything to do with my brother?"

"Let me start of by saying that I don't know," Tyrion began. "It is just a mere thought. I have no proof whatsoever. The Starks might have – then again they might be just as uncertain as we are."

"Go on," she said. "What is this possibility that you see?"

"Rhaegar," he said, "chose someone else, not his wife, to be his lover. A paramour of sorts. I don't know if you've heard the stories?"

Daenerys bit her lip. "I don't know," she said. "I sometimes feel as if I wasn't told everything."

"He chose Ned Stark's sister as his lover. Some say he took her, raped her, and killed her – others say she went willingly. I don't think we'll ever know for sure," he said, not quite looking her in the eye.

"My brother did?" she said, trying not to become upset. He'd always been her hero. The brother she looked up to, unlike Viserys whom she'd feared and despised.

Tyrion swallowed hard. "We cannot be sure," he said, "but we know that she went with him and that they both died."

"Were murdered," she corrected him. "Rhaegar was killed."

"Yes," he said. "He was. What happened to her remains less clear, though she did die as well."

"But this has nothing to do with Ned Stark's bastard," she said. "He brought a child back after the War. _His_ child, mothered no doubt by some whore or other."

"Indeed," Tyrion said. "That is what we all know, or rather, think we know. John Snow didn't know who his mother was – his father wouldn't tell him. He told me so himself, many years ago."

"No doubt the story was too shameful," Daenerys said. "Lord Stark wouldn't be the first man to hide such scandals."

"Yet he didn't hide it. He took the boy home with him. A curious thing to do for someone so honorable."

"Taking the child home was honorable in a way," Daenerys heard herself defend Ned Stark. How did it come to this? she briefly wondered. "To not hide the child, but accept his mistake – for the whole world to see."

"I wonder…." Tyrion said. "A man would almost have to be, well, nearly divine to be so honorable."

"You are saying, he wasn't?" Daenerys wished he would stop with all the riddles.

"Bastards are either killed or cared for out of sight. Only when they get accepted by their parents and granted a family name will they exist in the open, will their existence be acknowledged at all. Yet Lord Stark chose to have the child raised in his own home, alongside his true children and protected him during his entire childhood. It must have cost him dearly. The laughs, the resentment from his wife, but still he did. Despite the ridicule, despite the dishonor."

"And because this is unusual and unheard of, you believe it is significant?" she asked. "So his mother might be a Targaryen? Is that what you mean?" She bit her lip as he gazed at her. "But who could she be?"

"I don't think his mother was a Targaryen," Tyrion replied. "I believe his father may have been."

"Lord Stark is his father," she laughed hoarsely. "You have drunk too much wine, Tyrion, and it is still morning."

"I have drunk quite a bit of wine," he agreed, "yet that does not necessarily make me wrong. What if John Snow is not Lord Stark's child? What if he's the child of another Stark?"

"Another Stark?" It took a while for it to dawn on her. "You mean?" she finally whispered. "Rhaegar and… what's her name again?"

"Lyanna Stark."

"Ned Stark's sister, the one that my brother took, rode away with…"

"It's not entirely impossible," Tyrion said. "Though maybe unlikely. If – and it is a big if – if there is any truth to my lovely spun tale, though I say so myself, Lord Stark has been very good at hiding this secret."

Daenerys slowly let out her breath. "Yes," she agreed. "The boy would have been killed otherwise, like we almost were… Like Rhaegar's other children were."

"Yes, my Queen," Tyrion said. "The child would have had Ned's blood but Targaryen blood as well. A secret no-one would have been allowed to know. Not even as a mere whisper."

"He served the Usurper," she said. "He rode with him. He vowed fealty to him and all the while he protected…."

"His sister's child. His family name. His own blood."

"But also a Targaryan prince," she softly said. "A little prince, not a bastard."

"Well, still a bastard, technically," Tyrion said. "Unless they got married."

"But Rhaegar was already married," she said, remembering her name, "to Elia Martell."

"That's true," Tyrion replied. "Though stranger things have happened."

Daenerys grew quiet. "He may have married her in secret," she finally said, "broken his earlier vows for a new love." It was an unpleasant idea. She shook her head as to cast the thought aside.

"And _he_ doesn't know any of this?" she said. "Perhaps we should not share it with him as yet."

"No, my Queen," Tyrion said. "There is no way of knowing what he would do with such knowledge."

"If it is true," she stated, "which is highly unlikely." Daenerys wouldn't be quick to accept this tale.

"Indeed," Tyrion said. "It is merely a possibility."

"Exactly," Daenarys said. "This particular story does not leave this very tent." She commanded as she looked sternly at her handmaidens and the few Unsullied that guarded her. "It would undermine my position when we parley this afternoon. I will not have that."

"No, my Queen," they muttered.

"I'll need to know for sure first, some sort of proof," she continued. "Until then, we will not speak of this again."

She told them all to leave her alone for half an hour. She needed peace and quiet. Time to think. To reflect on the strange tale she had just heard. Before the parley preparations began.

* * *

 _Tyrion – walking about the campsite_

She had dismissed him. All of them. Tyrion was on his way to get lunch when he decided to visit the dragons instead. Drogon was high up in the sky again, but the – as of yet – riderless dragon, golden one, Viserion, wasn't airborne. He was nibbling something – a cow probably, or a goat. Tyrion looked at him, keeping a comfortable distance. The tale he'd told his Queen kept spinning through his head. He had only thought of it last night, just before he fell asleep. Yet when he woke this morning, he had felt eerily certain about his suspicions. It made sense; all the pieces fitted. So when Daenerys demanded answers, he had spilled it all out. His very own theory. She had seemed not unwilling to accept it; though the consequences could hurt her badly. Tyrion realized she was close to realizing that too which would explain why no one was allowed to know just yet.

A dark thought entered his mind. Surely she would not have his head for this? At some point? For all but calling John Snow another true contender for the Iron Throne.

He looked at the gold dragon. Perhaps the dragon was gold because he was a golden Lannister lion. Or perhaps if he ever tried to mount it, golden flames would be the last thing he saw. Tyrion nearly approached the beast when he got startled by someone who called his name. He turned around and saw Missandei coming towards him. Tyrion sighed. Perhaps it was for the best. He would need to drink quite a bit more to have the courage and boldness for such a move.

"Missandei," he said. "What brings you to me?"

She smiled briefly before she replied. "I would like to get your advice," she said. "Before I speak with our Queen."

"Of course," he said, and he went with her. But not without a short glance back at the dragon. It had eaten most of its meal and Tyrion suddenly heard his own stomach rumble.


	27. Chapter 27

A/N: Some of the reviews on the last chapter got 'eaten' by the internet somehow. I received a few of them in my email inbox but couldn't approve or read them on the website, nor could I reply to them. So for those of you who reviewed, that's why you can't find your reviews of the chapter.

* * *

Chapter 27

 _Jaime – worried over a potion_

Jaime wasn't aware of his brother's hopes and fears. His mind was not on dragons nor his parentage or anyone else's for that matter. What bothered him was the fate of his servant. She had become much more than a servant; he was acutely aware of that. Since the death of her lover, her demeanor had changed. She was more silent, brooding. Jaime worried about it. He wasn't ready to lose yet another person in his life. They had visited the cliffs where the woman had met her end a few times trying to find something, anything. But they'd found nothing. Suzanne had been gloomy ever since.

When Jaime saw her brewing something dark greenish late one afternoon, he gulped. The gleam in her eyes was murderous and the smell of the broth was hideous. "I'm not eating that," he quipped.

"It's not for you," she mumbled.

"I hope you know what you're doing," he said softly. "It smells as if it could burn through the pot itself."

She laughed. It was a hollow sound.

"It's not wildfire," she said, irritation creeping into her voice.

"It seems just as inflammable," he replied. As do you, he thought.

She pointed her finger at him. "Don't interfere," she hissed. "We've all got our own paths to walk."

"Please, Suzanne," he pleaded. "Don't… just don't. Think of the life you have, all the dreams you might achieve…"

Her laugh was even harsher this time. When she finally replied, her voice was raw and raspy: "My dreams are darker than the night itself. The long night even."

Jaime suddenly remembered. "I had a dream a while ago too," he said, his throat constricting. "You were in it."

Suzanne looked up from the pot that she'd been stirring. Her eyes were narrowed. "What was I doing?" she said.

Jaime hesitated. She was a witch, after all. "You were pinning me down," he said. "I was drowning."

"Who else was present?" she said, not even surprised.

"How did you know someone else was?" he said. "I didn't tell you."

Suzanne smiled. It was a sad one. "I catch dreams sometimes," she said with a shrug, and her smile crept into a grin. "And sometimes," she said, with a slight pause. "Sometimes, I send them."

"You…" Jaime swallowed hard. "You send them?"

Suzanne nodded. "I do sometimes, if I think I can help."

"How?" he said, "Why?"

She shrugged again. "You needed it." When he didn't understand, she continued: "You were lost."

" _I_ was lost?"

"Yes," she said, "you were. Back then at least. After, not so much."

"Suzanne," he whispered, "Perhaps… perhaps now you are the one that's lost." He was silent for a moment. "And I can't send any dreams to help you, nor make any healing potions."

She teared up and he stood next to her. His arm slid around her shoulder and he held her close.

They stood entwined together for a moment, before he whispered: "Let's carry it out and throw it away."

Suzanne nodded. "Mind the herbs," she said, as she stopped stirring. They both took one of the handles, wrapped in cloth as not to hurt themselves. In the garden they carefully poured it out over some weeds. The potion burned away whatever it touched, weeds, flowers, even a few pebbles. The ground became burnt and steamy as the earth swallowed the potion. Jaime gulped. "It's wildfire's cousin, for sure," he said.

Suzanne didn't deny it.

"It was a warning," she said.

"The potion?" Jaime asked.

"The dream."

"A warning against what? Against whom?"

"Making the wrong choice. Loving those who don't deserve it. Those who won't return the favor. Those who won't return at all. Cersei."

"You were in it too," he said. She didn't reply.

"And Brienne," he continued. "But she left. She took the sword and left me." He gazed at the fields and the dark burnt ground right in front of them.

"Left you where?" Suzanne said, her eyes weary.

"Drowning, in the river. With you and Cersei." Pushing me down, pulling me into the water, he thought, but he bit his tongue. It had been an unsettling dream; almost too unsettling to recount.

"It's not literal, you know," Suzanne said, with a slight smirk. "I won't kill you by drowning. I don't intend to murder you in your sleep, or at all."

"What then?" he asked, meeting her eyes.

"It's more about holding you back. Pulling you into our misery," she said, a little timid. "I'm grateful I'm here and you gave me this chance but I'm not sure if serves your best interests. It most likely doesn't."

"Cersei is gone," he said, his jaw set. "She can't pull me down any longer." Even as he spoke the words he knew that it might not be strictly speaking true. She could and she had. They had been twins: too tightly bound to be unwound.

"She shouldn't," Suzanne agreed, "and nor should I. Someday I should leave, and someday I will. It's just that I can't make myself, not just yet."

"So you wanted to help me to let her go," Jaime gathered. "Let all of you go, even Brienne?"

"Brienne is gone," Suzanne said. "She slipped away from you as you were held back."

"In the dream, she did," he argued. "In reality, we both went our own ways. She sent me here, so I could be safe." It was safe here, he thought. Tarth was as safe as safe could be. Very nearly dull.

"And you let her go yourself," she agreed. "Even though you would regret it shortly after."

Jaime smiled sadly. "I regret it still, yet she has found happiness, I believe. She's a mother now."

"And you have gotten yourself a heartbroken servant," she said, "not such a good trade."

He shook his head. "I don't care about you dream," he replied, his teeth clinched. "I don't think you're holding me back. You are my only friend , here on this isle, and I won't forget that, should you leave. I simply wish that you would not."

"I may have to flee, at one point," she replied, meeting his eyes. "Not unlike yourself, but until then, I'm glad you're my friend." He took her hand and squeezed it softly.

They were bound together too, he though. Perhaps it was her magic. Or perhaps it was simply their status as outcasts. They worked well together; they lived well together. The thought of losing her too was quite unbearable, he found. He didn't want to let her go. Not another one.


	28. Chapter 28

Chapter 28

 _The King of the North – the parley_

Jon was pacing outside Daenerys' tent. She was still in with her advisors. Arya, Sansa, Ser Davos, Tormund and a few of his bannermen were with him. They wouldn't all enter, yet they all came for a show of support. Jon was grateful. He didn't like waiting and gathered it was meant to put him on edge. The Dragon Queen's display of power.

An Unsullied came out of the tent and beckoned them in. The King of the North along with his sisters and closest advisors entered it. She sat in a chair with steps leading up to it – heightened above everyone: a small wooden throne of sorts - flanked by her entourage. Jon patiently waited as someone poured him and his companions a cup of wine. Finally Daenerys spoke: "You wished to parley?" she said. "I am told that one of your forefathers was the King who Knelt. You may do so as well and no harm will come to you, nor your men."

"It is customary for some exchange to take place," Jon coolly replied. "I am the King of the North. What would this kneeling," his eyes hiding a cold rage, "bring me? Are you so assured of your chances?"

"Of course, I am," she said, still looking down at him. "I vowed to crush my enemies and so I will."

"At least one of your dragons does not seem to agree," Jon smirked. "Would you have us fight dragon to dragon, like in the olden days?"

Daenerys did not reply, though Jon could see it cost her effort not to do so. Good, he thought, I'm rattling her.

"I have another proposition," he said, "like you, I would like to refrain from further bloodshed. Before my ancestor knelt – an unfortunate decision – the King of the North lived in peace alongside those of other realms. A peaceful coexistence. Perhaps even an alliance. I would propose such a solution."

Daenerys' eyes narrowed. "And what would be in it for me?" she said, echoing his previous question.

"Like I already stated. A strong ally; a friendly neighbor."

"Why should I not fight for what is rightfully mine?" she said. "I mean to rule all Seven Kingdoms, including the North."

"How about North of the Wall?" Jon said. "Have you've considered that? Us Northerners have valuable knowledge and weapons; ones you might need as well." He silently prayed she would not call his bluff.

"You forget I have dragons," she said, smirking. "They – what are they called: Others? – don't frighten me."

"That's because you haven't met them yet," Tormund muttered under his breath, but she heard him.

"I'll take my chances," the Dragon Queen replied. "I've won difficult and so-called impossible battles before."

"So you would rather lose more men and resources than accept an extended hand of friendship?" Jon gathered. "Thereby risking both our people's safety in the war to come."

"I'll give you peace, if you kneel," she said. "Lord of Winterfell does have a nice ring to it, does it not? Your father was content with it. Why not take it and save your men, and your breath?"

Jon opened his mouth, and hesitated, before he spoke: "I will speak to my advisors," he said. "Why don't you visit me tomorrow and we'll further discuss these terms?"

Daenerys gave him an arrogant sort of nod. "Very well," she said. "We will."

Jon gave a small nod in greeting to her before he swept out of her tent. He beckoned all those with him to be silent until the safety – and privacy – of their own camp, disregarding some of their nasty glares.

* * *

 _Tormund – at the council_

Tormund listened to all the bannermen shouting as they had gathered in a large meeting tent. Usually they ate here, but now they quarreled. They had their own ideas, and most of all, their pride. Some felt Jon had been too lax, not strong enough in his dealings with the Dragon Queen, whereas others felt he'd been too stubborn. No further bloodshed, they said, even at any cost. Tormund disagreed with that, though he understood well enough. Brienne stood next to him and he sought her hand. One or two men had scowled at him, bringing her along, but no one else really cared.

"The King of the North should fight for the North," Lord Glover said, hissing through his teeth. "Not give it up so easily."

"Calmer heads should prevail," Lord Manderly disagreed. "We have another, more gruesome battle to expect still."

"I have not given up," Jon sternly put his bannerman in his place. "If it is possible I would have this war end, but I will not give up the North. I don't know what kind of ruler she is yet – not for sure – and I won't have her rule the North just because she wants to."

"Aye!" Lord Glover said, speaking up again. "Insulting us like that, all that talk of the King who Knelt!"

Tormund stirred. "She doesn't take the threat of Night seriously," he said, solemnly but loud. "She should not rule, not near nor beyond the Wall." Some bannermen scowled at him, still not that used to a Wildling leader in their midst. They preferred him to keep his silence, Tormund knew, unlike their King who nodded in agreement. "I would like to stand with her against the true threat," he said, "but she seems to be unwilling. It must be all that Dragon's blood stirring inside her."

"Maybe the Imp stirs inside her too," someone muttered, which was greeted with a salvo of laughs.

"What about the dragons?" Ser Davos said, pointing out the one subject they hadn't touched upon yet. "Or the dragon, I should say."

The King of the North hesitated. "I don't know," he finally said. "I believe it's on my side, but I can't be sure as to why…. There aren't any solid reasons, as far as I can tell."

"Only Targaryen's have ever flown upon dragons," Lord Manderly whispered, "No disrespect, my King." He bowed, but the question – and the doubt – was unspoken yet clear. The King of the North whose name is Stark – it said.

"None taken," Jon replied, "All I can say is that I am a Stark. My father was a Stark. As to who my mother was…. I cannot tell. I do not know. That is all that I know. If anyone here present knows more, please do step forward and speak up."

No one did. Jon nodded slowly. "It remains a puzzle then. If it comes to battle, I assume the dragon will fight on our side – I hope. Against its Mother, its Queen, its brothers."


	29. Chapter 29

Chapter 29

 _Tyrion – walking across the camp_

The parley had not gone as expected – or maybe it had – Tyrion reflected. They were both stubborn and prideful, as rulers were supposed to. The question of the dragons had scarcely been touched. A shame, Tyrion thought. He had left the tent shortly after the parley as Missandei and Grey Worm wanted to speak to her alone. Tyrion knew what that was about; Missandei had told him. If granted permission it would be some welcome news for a change.

Daenerys would seek his counsel again after that. She would want to hear his thoughts. Would it be so very bad to have an ally? If Jon was trust-worthy, perhaps even kin? Then again, that also made him a true rival – one with an actual claim. Tyrion felt the responsibility heavily on his shoulders. He didn't know either. He could not predict the future. He thought Jon had had a point when it came to the threat of the North. Once Tyrion had laughed about such tales, but no more. For Jon Snow to have Wildlings in his army, to have protected and befriended them?! Something must have caused a former Commander of the Night's Watch to do such a strange and reckless thing. The return of creatures from the stories of old would provide amble reason.

Tyrion found himself drawn to the cream and gold dragon again. He was prancing about in a bare field, snapping at birds but not devouring them. Playful almost. Tyrion laughed and Viserion looked up at him. He had caught his attention. Tyrion bit his lip as he approached. This had not been his intent, had it? The dragon stopped a few meters away from him. It gazed at Tyrion and Tyrion stared back at him, trying his best not to tremble. Viserion began to flap his wings, turned around in a big whoosh and took to the air. Tyrion gasped as it turned once more and flew right over him. "Just a day dream," he mumbled. "Just a boy's wish."

He was strangely heartbroken that afternoon. Only a very small sliver of his heart kept saying: not yet. Not yet, but soon. Tyrion shook his head. He should not believe his boyish dreams. He had been a man long enough to know that dreams often fell apart. Dreams were like broken mirrors: poor reflections of reality.

* * *

A little while later he was back in Daenerys' tent. She had granted them permission to marry; Grey Worm and Missandei were overjoyed; though only a keen observer would notice it. Daenerys herself, however, was impatient. "Clearly he seeks to disturb me, wanting me to come to him, this time," she snarled. "I had to accept his offer, but I don't like it. He means to pour salt into my wounds: Rhaegal's changing loyalty; remaining at his side, at his camp! He wants me to see it again with my own eyes…."

"Perhaps," Tyrion swallowed hard, "perhaps he does not mean it in a harmful way. Perhaps we should…" he hesitated.

"Speak!" she commanded. "That's what I need you for."

"Maybe your children do know more than we do," Tyrion said. "Maybe they are telling you to make peace. Showing it to you by already doing so themselves. If so, it would mean Rhaegal has not truly changed his loyalties, it would mean that he is showing you to trust Jon Snow. That _he_ does, at least."

A frown appeared on her face. "If so," she said, "It would mean that he is my kin, would it not? My ally and my blood…"

Tyrion briefly bowed. "I do believe so," he whispered. "Dragons are magic after all. Maybe they can sense kinship too."

"If I grant him what he wants," she said, "which I'm not inclined to, I will look weak. Like I gave the North away without much of a fight. I have conquered the other Kingdoms; why should I give up so easily? I have plenty of fight left in me and so have my troops. His might not…"

"For the good of the realm," Tyrion said. "Or for the war to come. Fight this war with the Northerners after the other one instead of before. Become an ally before you become an enemy." He hated himself for suggesting it, yet it was a sound strategy. Use the King of the North's armies to slaughter the Night King and then claim the North thereafter – when it has weakened. "The North is vast and hard to conquer. It might take more of a fight than you imagine."

She nodded. "Your strategy does sound appealing," she smirked. "Use him for now and wait until later to take the North. I could graciously take his offer and let him think we are allies." Her eyes burned with pleasure. "He will not know what will hit him once that other threat has been dealt with…"

"He will believe your dragon has made you see the way of peace. It will appeal to him, surely. Your connection with your Children will reflect their own with their dire-wolves. I believe the King in the North will prove to be a helpful and worthy ally," Tyrion said. "And it would show that you are more than a conqueror. That you are also a Queen who is capable of making and building alliances when it is prudent. It may strengthen your reputation instead of weakening it."

His Queen smiled again. "Peace it is then," she said, "for now."

* * *

Tyrion left her tent with a heavy heart. He liked Jon Snow, the bastard King. He felt his betrayal keenly, yet it had been the only option. His Queen was so intent on war that she had to have some battle to look forward too. He had given her one – and bought some respite for the time being. His tale about the dragons' wanting peace had been his own interpretation; he had no idea what dragons thought. What might go on in those fiery heads of theirs…. All he knew what his own longing, those childhood dreams that had been stirred, how his hopes had increased when Jon Snow took to the air. How foolish the thought was, yet how he had been able to free the dragons without them harming him. They hadn't minded him approaching them, touching their skin, releasing their shackles. They had accepted him. He looked up and saw Viserion fly miles above him. "Soon, very soon," he whispered. His own speech had not just convinced his Queen, it had also convinced himself. He would give it a try; live or die.


	30. Chapter 30

A/N: Thanks for the reviews, follows and favorites!

It may take some time between updates sometimes, but, rest assured, the story is very much on my to-do-list.

* * *

Chapter 30

 _Sansa – confiding in her sister_

The Dragon Queen had allied herself to Jon. She had visited him in his tent and accepted his demands. He was to remain King in the North and all she asked in return was his allegiance. Jon had – almost too eagerly, Sansa believed – agreed and now the enemies were allies. Jon's dragon, for that's what he seemed to be, it turned out had a name: Rhaegal. Named after the man that had abducted and raped their aunt. Sansa did not like it much. Nor did she feel easy now that Jon had a direwolf and a dragon. She wondered if it meant something – but what?

As she was walking aimlessly through the camp she noticed her sister playing with her direwolf, Nymeria, at an empty patch. There was neither grass nor snow on it. Sansa still felt a pang sometimes when she saw Ghost or Nymeria. Her Lady never even stood a chance.

"Can I ask you something?" she said. "In confidence. In private."

Arya narrowed her eyes as she patted her huge animal. "Is there something on your mind?" she said. "Trouble?"

Sansa bit her lip. "Yes," she said. "What do you think changed her mind? She might have fought us. She might have won. Why do you think she agreed to this? Can we really trust her? Jon seems to want to…" Her eyes were dark. She had been betrayed before.

Arya nodded and took her by the arm. As they walked to an even quieter place, near the edge of the forest, she replied: "I've been wondering about that too. She may have listened to her advisors. The Imp. He was your husband once… Could he have won her over?"

"He is strategic," Sansa said. "He knows what he's doing, usually."

"I've been hatching a plan," Arya said. "But you mustn't tell anyone."

Sansa's eyes lit up. Her sister had never shared secrets with her before. Maybe they truly were becoming friends! "My lips are sealed," she said.

"Remember my skills?" she said. "The ones I picked up overseas? I thought about using them to take a peek at the other camp every once in a while. Just to make sure we can trust her. I will need to be careful though."

"That's a splendid idea," Sansa said, a little jealous. "If there's anything I can do to help, you must tell me."

"I will," Arya said. "We should stick together."

Sansa agreed. Her sister had developed a taste for danger. She had not. Her marriage with Ramsey, her betrothal to Joffrey: she longed for rest and peace more than anything in the world. Let Arya have the danger and the adventures; if she could have Winterfell and keep the world at bay behind its big sturdy walls she would be happy. If only that were possible…

* * *

 _Brienne - at night in her tent_

Brienne had been glad to hear of the truce. It meant the more important war would be fought. The one her husband cared the most about; the one she had begun to fear and anticipate. Brienne was a child of the isles. Of warmth and water, of rippling sea. Not of ice and cold and the ice-cold Dead. The Dead that walked. That lived and breathed. She snuggled close to her warm husband. He would protect her, she would protect him. They would face the long winter together of that she was sure. He mumbled as she held him tight. Soon she would be reunited with her child again. They would return to Winterfell. Regroup before they'd make the long march North.

 _Tormund – dreaming of dread_

Tormund mumbled in his sleep. The sky was dark and even the snow and ice itself did not shine as white and bright as before. He plowed through the snow as his body grew heavier and heavier until he fell. Tormund could not get up. He lay there, helpless and forgotten. A beast flew overhead. A dragon, but this one made of icy skin and bones. With the cold blue piercing gaze of the Others. A merciless stare. The dragon circled above him, not leaving him out of his sight. Tormund felt claws reaching up to him, dragging him down deep into the earth. He woke with a stir but when Brienne asked worriedly what was the matter, he cooed her back to sleep. Tormund himself could not sleep. The dream bothered him. The earth meant death he knew. But whose death? His own? The dragon's? Or all of them? Did the Others possess magic that could turn even dragons into ice? Blazing cold winds instead of fire? Tormund knew the strength of magic, of the unfairness of fighting against it. He looked at his sleeping wife. Brienne had no idea, he thought. Strong and willful as she was, she was still unware of the many dangers. "The whole lot of them are," he mumbled. Apart from some crows mayhap. They'd visit Castle Black to gather as much crows as they could. Jon had already send ravens urging them to gather the crows from the other posts as well. Creating an army in black.

He sighed. Tormund had spent his entire life running and fighting. There should come an end to this, he thought, one way or another. Night or day may win, winter or summer, but whatever the outcome, the battle needed to be fought. Fought and settled. Once and for all.


	31. Chapter 31

Chapter 31

 _Daenerys – Approaching Winterfell_

"Winterfell," some cried. "Winterfell." Daenerys saw something resembling a castle in the distance. "We're finally here then," she said to Tyrion. "Is it really to be excited about?"

"It's a fine stronghold," he replied, "though perhaps not the most refined one."

"I thought not," she said, a smirk playing on her lips. Tyrion smiled back.

"The North is rough around the edges, I'm sure you have noticed."

"Indeed," his Queen replied. "And proud of it, I dare say."

Tyrion smiled back. "I think you are right, my Queen," he said. "They value their independence."

Daenerys narrowed her eyes. "Indeed," she said sourly. "As I've discovered."

"But a valuable ally," he argued , "which is worth more than…."

Daenerys urged him to continue, but Tyrion was gazing at the sky. Her two loyal dragons were playfully chasing each other, almost roasting one another's tails with delight.

"You seem to take a greater interest in them lately…" she posed.

Tyrion smirked at her. "They better use their fiery breath on other creatures," he replied. "Not at each other."

"They have in the past," Daenerys said. "They fought, my kin, brother against sister. Dragon against dragon." Her vision got a little cloudy. "I hope it won't come to that again," she whispered. "With Rhaegal lost to me."

"I'm sure he's not truly lost to you," her impish advisor began, but she silenced him.

"You don't know what it is like," she hissed. "I am their Mother. How could he have betrayed me so? Why did he leave me?!"

Tyrion did not have an answer. For once, no funny or ironic remark. No easy quip.

Daenerys looked ahead at the Stark stronghold, fighting back her tears. It all felt like a defeat, she thought. Becoming allies with Jon Snow, her dragon leaving her. Whatever else would be in store for her? Angrily she wiped the tears away, gritted her teeth, and put on a brave smile. They shouldn't see her doubts. She would have to be strong and needed to be seen as such. "I am the Dragon," she whispered softly.

* * *

 _Tyrion – his maiden flight_

Dawn was breaking. Tyrion hadn't slept all night. After a splendid welcoming feast, he had stayed inside the keep, these last few days, as an honored guest but he longed to get out. As he needed to break water, he decided to leave the castle all together for a stroll. The night's watchmen were a little weary of his request but let him go regardless. Surely they thought the Imp would not get far.

As he ploughed throw the thick snow as best as he could he spotted something golden near the edge of the trees. The forest looked dark and inhospitable yet curiosity took the better of him. As Tyrion slowed approached he realized it was Viserion. Perhaps he was bathing somehow? The dragon was dancing around in the snow. Tyrion felt like he was put under a spell. There was no one else around, the world was still asleep. Perhaps this was his moment. He came closer and the dragon sensed him. Viserion turned around, towards him and fixed Tyrion with a locking stare. Tyrion swallowed hard but kept moving forward. Slowly, very slowly, until he stood next to great beast. Both of them sunken halfway in the snow. Tyrion patted the dragon's neck like he had before, when he'd released them. The dragon made a soft hissing sound. Of enjoyment, not anger, Tyrion realized with a jolt. He liked being patted!

"You're have the color of Lannister gold," he whispered. "My brother and sister had golden hair and everything they touched became gold too." Until it didn't, a voice inside his head warning him. Jaime was an exile and Cersei had been killed. "Everything I touched, well… I couldn't reach everything to begin with," he giggled a little cynically. "But you don't mind me near you, do you?"

Viserion did not really respond, and Tyrion hesitated. "Will you truly carry me? And whatever will your Mother say…?"

Tyrion grabbed the dragon's neck and tried to lift himself on top of it. Viserion didn't even seem to feel it. When he'd finally was sitting, the dragon did stir, as if he only now sensed the extra weight. He shook his head and yawned.

"You're tired," Tyrion said. "Just like us, from all the travelling. "

As he spoke, the dragon turned its head. Tyrion held his breath. Would fire and teeth be the last thing he ever laid eyes upon? Viserion only stared at him. A little puzzled, perhaps.

Tyrion smiled a shaky smile. The dragon gave him a curt nod and began to stir its wings. Tyrion clasped his hands around the great big neck; it was just about possible.

The wings spread out. They were much larger from so close by, Tyrion thought and then he could not think anymore at all. All he could do was scream.

* * *

 _Jon Snow – waking up with a shock_

Lord Snow, or the King of the North woke up startled. He'd been woken by a scream. Was the castle under attack by the Others? Was there a fire? He swept into his cloak and ran out of his chambers. "What's happening?" he asked one of the servants, but they'd only shrugged.

"Must be the kitchen maid seeing rats again," he mumbled. Jon angrily shook his head.

"Remind me never to make you a guardsman," he responded.

"Aye, my King," the man said, turning pale. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have.."

Jon did not stop to listen to his apology. When he finally reached a spot where he had a decent view, Jon realized he was late to the party. There were people everywhere pointing towards the sky, shouting: "It's the Imp!" Jon narrowed his eyes and peered.

It _was_ Tyrion. He sat on a dragon. The golden one. Jon sighed. "She will not be pleased," he said. "Yet another rider."

Arya caught his gaze; Sansa was not far of either; their looks spoke clear enough, as did Arya's large grin. "They told me so," he muttered, not at anyone in particular.


	32. Chapter 32

A/N: Thanks for reviews, follows, and favorites!

* * *

Chapter 32

 _Daenerys – gazing at the sky_

Daenerys was staring at the sky from Winterfell's walls as well, flanked by the Greyjoys. "Traitor," she mumbled. "That's why he couldn't keep his eyes of them…"

"I thought you could control them," Theon muttered. She pierced him with her ice cold gaze. "No one can control them," she lectured. "They belong to themselves, to nature."

"If that's the case," his sister, Yara, said, "than you can't blame them. They do as they see fit."

"These people are turning my dragons into a spectacle!" she said. "Into a Mummer's play. Prancing ponies and dancing bears." It was all she could do to stop shouting at the top of her lunges. Why were her dragons leaving her? If Drogon went as well, she might as well be dead… The thought almost chocked her with fear.

"Why?" she whispered, "why?"

"I think you should find out as soon as you can," Yara said, "as it bleeds your power."

"Will you be my Hand?" Daenerys asked.

"I'd be honored," Yara said, giving her a quiet nod.

"That's arranged then," she replied. Tyrion would pay for his treason. The Lannisters were proving themselves to be all cut out of the same cloth. A grin appeared on her face. He could join the Starks for all she cared. Or join the Nights Watch, if they did not want him.

"You are right," she said. "I do need to find out what is happening to them. My children."

* * *

 _Jon Snow - dreaming_

Though the events of the day were on his mind as he fell asleep, Jon did not dream of dragons that night. He dreamt of his brother. Long ago, Bran's face had appeared on a tree in his dreams and tonight, he did so again. The tree wept but also spoke sternly. "Remember our words," it kept saying over and over again. "Remember our words." Winter is coming, Jon though feverishly, I know it is, but does it mean anything beyond the obvious? "Remember our words," his tree-ish brother said again. "Remember why they were chosen…. Tales of the Maesters, tales of Old Nan…"

He woke up in the middle of the night and did what his old friend Sam Tarly used to do. When in doubt, visit the library. The Maester was awake as well; he was looking into dragons and how, if and why their loyalties shifted.

"The reason behind the words, my King?" he asked, slightly puzzled. "Why, the long night, of course…"

Jon sighed. "I know, but there must be something else," he clarified. "Something beyond what's there at first sight."

"Winter is coming," the Maester recited. "It means that the Starks always have to be prepared. Prepared for Winter, for the cold, for another long night… Be prepared, that's what it means as well. It's a warning, a dire warning."

Jon knew all that. It was the only motto that wasn't proud or self-serving. That wasn't hopeful, cheery or boisterous. "Be prepared," he whispered. "Prepared how? When did the words first appear?"

"Well, that was in the age of Brandon the Bold," the Maester began. "He carried but few weapons and travelled with even fewer men yet went out against all enemies regardless. He thought himself invincible…."

"Yes," Jon said, "he did. And he had good reason to…" Awareness sparked in him again, tales of old coming alive.

The Maester smiled sadly. "Spears and arrows of dragon glass did not save him in the end. He was quartered by giants. Brandon the Cleaved, he became."

"Aye," the King of the North said, "but not before he had secured his son's return by sacrificing himself. Brandon the…. What was it?"

"Not a Brandon, not this time," the Maester smiled. "An Eddard, the very first."

"Eddard the Hoarder…" Jon remembered. A smile crept over his face. "Now what was it that he hoarded?" His eyes lit up as the Maester shook his head.

"It was all lost," he mumbled. "Only in the stories did he…. Legend and history often part ways, my King. Legend tells the better stories, but history can be relied upon."

Jon shook his head in return. "You are wrong," he said. "The myths have hidden meanings and knowledge that the histories have forgotten. That got left out and was banished to the realm of fables. I have come to believe in the knowledge of old."

"The castle has been searched many, many times," the Maester said. "You are not the first to imagine great treasure or weaponry. Please be careful, my King, do not get your hopes up."

Jon did not heed his warning but darted out of the library. Where should he begin? What was the surest place to hide such important weapons…?


	33. Chapter 33

Chapter 33

 _Tyrion – returning to Winterfell_

After his amazing flight, Tyrion landed on solid ground again. He gave the dragon a pat on the neck and walked away. He had done it! Somehow he connected to dragons too! Or at least, this one. Tyrion couldn't hide a huge smile from his face as he slowly walked back to the main gate. He noticed the entire castle had been watching. He waved at the ones he recognized. His Queen did wear a frown though. Tyrion sighed. She couldn't be amused yet somehow it mattered not. He had flown a dragon. It made him feel like he was created out of solid stone, diamond even. Invincible.

As he passed the guards of the gate, one of them shouted out at him: "What was it like seeing the world from above?" as another smirked and said: "It must have been great to be a little higher from the ground for once."

"Indeed," Tyrion smirked back. "It was glorious." Some people cheered, some scowled, but the biggest surprise came when he stood in front of his Queen. Daenerys bend forward and took the pin of his cloak, the pin of the Hand, and pinned it on Yara, who stood by her side.

"My Queen!" Tyrion gasped.

"You may continue to serve me, if you wish," she stated coolly, "or serve the Starks, for all I care. Perhaps you should serve yourself instead, as all Lannister's are wont to do."

"I, I…" he stuttered.

"No words?" she asked. "That's a first." Her smile was not a pleasant one. When Tyrion still didn't know how to respond, she turned and swept away, the Greyjoy's following her.

He stood as if frozen. She did see it as a betrayal, he slowly realized. How could she? He gritted his teeth. He had let his own brother be marked. Had he still not proven his loyalty enough?

Anxiously he looked around him. People were gazing at him, equally as curious what he would do next as he was himself.

"Some wine!" he shouted. "When in doubt, drink will serve you well. Besides, travel makes a man thirsty!" The crowd that surrounded him laughed, and Tyrion joined them, with fake merriment.

As he sat down at one of the large tables in Winterfell's great hall, two women came and sat beside him. Starks. Sansa and Arya. "My former wife," he said, greeting her, "and her notorious sister."

"What will you do?" Sansa asked, jumping right into the discussion. "As we are allies, it shouldn't matter all that much…"

Tyrion privately disagreed. Daenerys seemed to be quite vengeful so changing sides might not help him. "Perhaps she will calm down," he said. "We'll see on the morrow…"

"She is the blood of the Dragon," Arya laughed. "Calm seems unlikely."

"I cannot change sides so easily," he said, pointing it out to them. "That would only confirm her suspicions of Lannister's and I won't besmirch my family name."

Sansa rolled her eyes. "Because that hasn't ever happened before," she smirked.

Tyrion smirked back. "Even so," he said, "despite what most may think, my reputation does matter to me. I will not abandon my Queen, even if she has abandoned me."

"Very well," Arya said, getting up. "I suppose that means we're done here."

"You go," Sansa said, "I'll be along later."

Tyrion drank his wine. Let her speak first, he thought. Wait, keep you words inside for now.

Sansa stared into the fire and it took her a long time to speak. Or so Tyrion felt. He'd never been one for awkward silences.

"I've been meaning to catch you on your own," she finally said. "We parted without goodbyes."

Tyrion nodded. They sure had.

Sansa swallowed hard. "I was not to blame for Joffrey's death, though you might not believe that…"

"My sister thought it was me," he said, as he took his cup. "All I know is that I wasn't either."

"I'd planned to escape before we were even married," she said. "I just had to wait until I was given the signal which happened that very night."

"I don't blame you for leaving, Sansa," he said, and he meant it. "You did not choose any of this."

She smiled a little sadly at him. "No, I didn't," she replied. "Nor all that came after."

"You are a widow now, I hear?" he wondered.

"I got him killed," she said, a smile playing on her lips, a cheerful one, this time, "but, I suppose, that would make me a widow."

"I guess I fared better than that at least," he said wryly. "You didn't try to kill me."

Sansa laughed. "For what it's worth," she said, after a while, "I could have done far worse than you. I have done."

Tyrion briefly dipped his head in acknowledgment. "Thank you," he said. "Coming from you that is high praise indeed."

She stood up. "I wish you well," she said, "and you are the only Lannister that will hear those words from my lips."

Tyrion rose his cup at her. "To my good health then," he said as he gulped down his wine.


	34. Chapter 34

A/N: I used a small bit out of the books for this chapter, from A Clash of Kings.

* * *

Chapter 34

 _Jon Snow – in the Maester's chambers_

"Dragons, dragons…" Winterfell's Maester muttered. "I'd never have thought I'd ever see one for myself, let alone see people travelling on their backs…"

"Dragon glass is more likely to capture my eye, these days," Jon replied. "I've searched at all the places I could think of, but not luck so far. Eddard the Hoarder sure knew how to hide his treasures."

"I told you it's all tales and fables, my King," the Maester said, with a scorning smile. "History may be duller, but it is also truthful."

Jon shook his head. "You are wrong, I just know it."

There was a knock on the door and the Dragon Queen herself stepped inside. "I wish to receive your Maester's counsel," she said. "I take it you do not object?"

"I don't object," Jon replied. "May I know what for?"

"The dragons," she said. "My children. You may enter now, Tyrion," she spoke and Tyrion too stepped inside the small chambers.

"The three dragon riders," Jon's Maester said, "come together."

"Indeed," Daenery spoke, "so we may find ourselves some answers."

"My sisters might be able to help," Jon said, but she disagreed.

"No one else," she said, "not my councilors, nor yours."

"Very well," Jon said, getting slightly irritated. "Just us then."

Unlike himself, Tyrion was quite silent. The three of them sat around the Maester's small and round table and when the silence became heavy and the situation seemed to turn into a staring contest, it was the Maester who broke the silence. "I've been searching for dragons and shifting loyalties these past few days," he sighed, his voice quivering. "I cannot find any reasons for it in my books. Dragons have only ever served your house; the Targaryen's were the only people ever to ride them, ever to keep them."

"If such is the case," Daenerys said, "there can be only one solution, or perhaps two."

"Which are?" Jon asked.

"Either you, both of you, have some sort - however distant - of Targaryen descent, or this has never happened before which is why there are no records to speak of."

"It has to be the second explanation then," Tyrion spoke up, "surely."

"I agree," Jon said. "Eddard was my father and my mother, well… a commoner. Not a secret Targaryen. It can't be true, even if my sisters seem to think so."

"They do?" Tyrion asked. "I suppose Sansa did have a soft spot for fancy tales…" The Maester rose his eyebrows as if to say Sansa was not the only one to enjoy or believe in them. The insolence, Jon thought briefly.

"Not just Sansa," Jon sighed. "Arya thinks so as well."

Jon saw Tyrion look sideways at the Dragon Queen as if conveying some sort of secret message. "I know of no Targaryen blood in my family line," he said again, "nor of any in yours." He looked straight at Tyrion. When he did not immediately reply, he continued: "unless I'm missing something here?"

Daenerys scraped her throat. "A few weeks ago, when Tyrion was still my Hand…" she paused for a moment, "we did discuss a faint possibility of you having Targaryen blood. And last night, I remembered something I saw in a vision some years ago…"

"You've had visions, my Queen?" Tyrion asked, at the same time as Jon said sharply: "What faint possibility?"

"Tyrion," she commanded, "why don't you explain and then I'll share my vision…"

"Lyanna Stark," he said. "She was taken by Rhaegal, as you know." Jon nodded.

"I do," he said. "What of it?"

"What if there was a child?" Tyrion said. "A child with the blood of Starks and Targaryans…. What if you were this child?"

Jon shook his head and laughed scoffing. "Eddard Stark is my father," he said. "Lyanna did not have any children… She died. She had been raped and captured and…"

"So does the tale go," Tyrion said, "though some seem to think there was love between them."

"I don't believe it," Jon said. "Father would have told me."

"I seem to recall," Tyrion replied, "that your father was going to enlighten you on your parentage. Didn't you tell me so when you'd just joined the Watch?"

"I never saw him again." Jon gritted his teeth. "I never spoke to him again."

"During my travels," Daenerys began, "I visited the House of the Undying. A place of magic and sorcery and while I was in there I saw glimpses. Of the past, the future, the present. Of what is and what may never be. There were doors everywhere and behind one of them was a woman and a man who looked like my brother Viserys but older. She was carrying a child, a boy. "The prince that was promised. His is the song of ice and fire."

Jon's eyes grew big. "Lyanna Stark?!" he muttered. "Perhaps you should visit the crypts and see her statue, to see if she resembles the woman in your vision."

"I gladly shall," Daenerys replied. "Though I don't recall her face exactly; it was some years ago…"

Jon wanted to know more, but Daenerys hadn't finished yet. "There was also a mention of three. There must be one more, the man said. The dragon has three heads…"

"Three riders," Tyrion and the Maester whispered in chorus.

"Three heads," the Dragon Queen said stubbornly, "though it does seem to amount to the same thing." She sighed. "I don't know what it all means," she said. "I thought I was the only Targaryen left. I am their Mother. They came to be because I believed in them and cradled them and put them onto the pyre… My child…" she choked in her words. "My child was the price I paid, but they became my children instead."

"You killed your own child?" Jon blurted out. Her eyes spat fire at him.

"The Maegi did," she said. "Using black magic. A life pays for a life, she said. She made me believe it was the horse…"

"The dragons were born in fire, and you were reborn too," Jon said, as he made up his mind. "I myself…. I was betrayed and… killed. A red priestess returned me to life. The God of Fire brought me back, though I did not even worship him."

All three of them stared at him now. "I haven't told too many people about it," he muttered. "Please do not speak of it beyond this room."

"You were dead?" Tyrion said, and as he turned to Daenerys, "and you survived the flames, twice even…"

She nodded complacently. "I did."

"Well," Tyrion said, "no such tales from me, I'm afraid. I nearly escaped death a few times, but I sure never returned from it…"


	35. Chapter 35

A/N: Like in the previous chapter, I've incorporated a small part from the book (ASoS) in this chapter.

Chapt 35

 _Tyrion – pondering at dinner_

They had talked for a long time, the three of them. About death and dragons, about parentage. Tyrion had voiced his doubts about his father. Perhaps he did not father him after all. His birth had been long and hard and had finally cost his mother her life. Targaryen births were known to be difficult. His hair did not match his sibling's fair color. It might be possible somehow….

The king had visited Casterly Rock once or twice, and that courtesy had been returned. Tyrion found it hard to imagine though. He hadn't known his mother, nor had Daenerys known her father. Jon hadn't known his mother – and as it would appear not his father either – it was all quite a mess and speculation at best. Still the fact of the dragon riders remained, whatever the cause. All Tyrion knew was that his father had hated him: perhaps because he was an imp. Because his mother had died because of him. Or perhaps because he had alluded to something: "Men's laws give you the right to bear my name and display my colors, since I cannot prove that you are not mine. To teach me humility, the gods have condemned me to watch you waddle about wearing that proud lion that was my father's sigil and his father's before him." Tyrion shook his head. He was dead and it was right that he was. His father might have hated him for all those reasons or for none of them at all; it was all in the past now.

His mind turned to his brother. Fate had such strange twists, Tyrion thought. Jaime had always been the fighter, the better rider too. "If only you could see me now, big brother," he mumbled. "Riding a mountainous beast." He rose and went to find the Maester, but as he crossed the great hall, he noticed Brienne next to her husband. She had a child in her arms, yet she still carried his brother's sword too. Stranger alliances had not often been forged, he thought. Maybe she could contact the Maester. He no longer was the Dragon Queen's hand, yet she would still take offence at him contacting his brother. She already saw him as a traitor – after all that he had done for her.

"Lady Brienne," he said, "might I have a word?"

She looked up with surprise in her big blue eyes and nodded, handing the red haired child over to Tormund. As they found a more quiet spot, he said: "Have you perchance written to my brother lately?"

Brienne briefly averted her eyes before she replied: "Not for a while, I'm ashamed to say. When last I wrote he was doing well, however, he has found a new life, I believe."

"You certainly have," Tyrion replied. "A husband, a child."

Brienne blushed but a hint of anger appeared in her eyes as well. "He does not begrudge me my good fortune," she said, and Tyrion nodded. I'm not so sure of that, he thought, but he needed her to help him, not antagonize her further.

"If I could implore you to write him a raven, would you?" he said instead. "I'd do it myself, but the Dragon Queen has expressively forbidden me to and since she and I… well, I wouldn't want to further alienate myself from her."

"What would you have me tell him?" she asked. "I won't be used for foul tricks…"

"Just relate the events of the past few days," he said, "me flying the dragon. And ask him if our father, or perhaps Cersei have ever alluded to – no, not alluded to – have ever admitted to me, perhaps, not being…." He stopped and said: "If you don't mind, I'd rather whisper it. It is not for all the world to hear."

Brienne's eyes narrowed but she did bend forward and Tyrion softly said: "my father's son." Her eyes grew wide and after a brief moment, he could see understanding lighting up in them.

"Three riders," she said. "They were family in the past…"

Tyrion smirked. "Perhaps things are different in the future, but I do intend to find out."

Brienne nodded at him and said: "I'll write him at once. I'll see to it," and she swiftly turned around.

You were wise to trust her, brother mine, he thought. A truer knight would be hard to find.

 _Brienne –writing a raven_

Brienne had started to write the raven four times already. Each version worse than the one before. She sighed deeply. The Maester kept an eye on her as she had hidden in his chambers. "Can I help?" he finally inquired.

"It's hard to find the words," Brienne grumbled. "I need to write a message and it has to be clear but not too specific and it not just coming from myself either… And it needs to be carried by a raven."

The Maester laughed. "You can't scribble an entire scroll, that's for sure."

"Indeed." Brienne frowned and started the fifth attempt.

 _Dear Ser Jaime,_ it said, like all the others before it. _I have seen the dragon that caused you pain and its brothers besides. The enemy to the North may fear its fire; we can only hope. All dragons have chosen riders, each as unlikely as the next. You won't believe this mayhaps, but your brother is among them. He implored me to ask you the following:_

This was the tricky part Brienne found. How to ask it? How to tell? And then there was the ending as well. Should she tell that she was happy? That Berinheart was growing well and Tormund a good husband? Should she even mention them at all…? Brienne found it harder than she wished.

She gritted her teeth. It had to be done, she had promised.

Do you have any inkling at all….? No, she thought. It has to be more clear.

 _Did your father or sister ever mention, perhaps in jest or anger, something, anything about your brother having another as father? The slightest memory might help him. He dearly longs to solve the mystery. I think he dearly longs to see you to._ As do I, she thought, as tears sprang into her eyes. It was hard to remain friends with him, she realized, because she didn't want to see him hurt.

 _I wish we could talk,_ she wrote, _spend some time together. Share stories and meat and mead. As it is, I must say goodbye. May the gods keep you safe and bless you. Lady Brienne._

Brienne briefly closed her eyes. It simply had to do, she decided, as she handed the paper to the Maester.


	36. Chapter 36

Chapter 36

 _Jaime – examining the past_

Jaime tossed and turned as Brienne's message kept zooming in his head. Tyrion riding a dragon? Tyrion having a different father? It made no sense at all. If Brienne had been fond of jokes, he'd have taken it as such, but she wasn't. So it must be true. Three riders, though the letter hadn't provided the identity of the third rider. Father had hated Tyrion, that much was true, and the feeling had been mutual. It still hurt to think that Tyrion had killed him. Jaime had had his own differences with his father but killing him would never had crossed his mind. Then again, he had killed a family member he loved, which was probably worse than killing someone you hated.

As sleep would not catch him, he began to think back to his childhood. Had his father said something? Had Cersei? Something tangible or clear? Cersei had been adamant that Tyrion could never join them in their games. A smile lingered on his lips. Some of their games were not meant to be seen after all. She had hated Tyrion from the start, calling him a monster. He had killed mother and Cersei had taken father's lead in that. Jaime had played with Tyrion, usually knights or knights and dragons. Tyrion was infatuated with them, he recalled. Jaime had stood up for Tyrion a few times if Cersei accused him of something or other. She would jape at him, whenever he'd played with his little brother, during her embroidery classes. Calling him a traitor, he thought, for siding with him. Why such a strong word, he wondered, was it more than jealousy? Did Cersei actually know something about Tyrion that he did not? Protecting the family, she had later said, numerous times. From inside as well as out.

His father had been furious when he had found out Jaime had joined the Kingsguard. It meant Casterly Rock would go to Tyrion. His father would sooner kill Tyrion than ever let that happen. He had said things like: "my only worthy son," but nothing more. No hint that it was for other reasons besides Tyrion's behavior and Jaime being his first born.

If father had known anything for sure, he would not have raised Tyrion as his own, Jaime concluded at last. He would have arranged an accident of some kind. If he had doubts, they never did become clear, they were never actually proven. Perhaps Tyrion had been such a large disappointment because he did believe him to be his own son. Had father known such was not the case, he would have been much more mellow about it.

Perhaps the dragons did not choose on ancestry after all, he thought. Perhaps that was just what people thought. Maybe they just randomly picked someone but had the Targaryens claimed them for themselves without the dragons truly wanting it. They had managed to set up dragons against their brothers too. In Jaime's view Targaryen's were not an example worth following. True, they had ruled for many years, but the one he had served had been ruthless and sadistic beyond compare. Jaime did not want his brother to be one of them. To be obsessed with fire and dragons. He did not want him to become mad.

 _Dear Brienne, dear brother,_ he wrote. _Your tale is unsettling to me. I strongly believe that if father had known anything for sure Tyrion would not have survived his childhood days. I cannot offer any proof either way. As will not surprise either of you, my feelings towards Targaryens in general are not warm ones. Be careful around those beasts. Remember that its brother has harmed me. It might be that your fascination with dragons from an early age has made them friendly towards you. I long to see the both of you as well. Be safe and be brave. As ever, your faithful friend and brother, Jaime._

After he had written the message, that he would send in the morning by visiting the Maester, sleep did take him. He dreamt of Cersei and Tyrion, of their childhood, of his mother. Jaime was happy and content, but in the midst of it all the Mad King rose. The Iron Throne he had sat on changed into a dragon and he flew away. Tyrion, as a little boy, hung onto the tail. They flew out of sight, Tyrion screaming and the Mad King laughing as his dragon set the whole world ablaze. Jaime woke with a start.

 _Brienne – receiving the raven_

Brienne read the raven before she went to search for Tyrion. He missed them, he said. He told them to be safe and brave. It had made her smile. "I can't do both, Ser Jaime," she had whispered. "If only I could." The thought of her little boy growing up without either or both of his parents stung her deeply, yet might come to pass. She went about the castle and finally found Tyrion outside of its walls, near the dragon that had chosen him. Brienne motioned him to come. She would not get near the beast. Its brother had attacked Jaime and plenty of other men besides.

"I've got your response," she said, as she held up the slip of paper. "Make of it what you will." She waited quietly as Tyrion read his message. He frowned and did not speak for a moment.

"I think he may have a point," Brienne offered tentatively. "Had your father had real doubts would he have acted differently, do you think?"

Tyrion nodded gravely. "I don't doubt it. He was not a sentimental man. However, it doesn't prove or disprove anything. He may not have had doubts, or only the slightest ones, not enough to act on. The family name had to survive; he always did insist on that. And he only had two sons, despite one being an imp. Perhaps he could not afford to lose me." Tyrion laugh was hollow. "How he must have resented it."

Brienne bit her lip. It was hard to listen to such callous, bitter talk; even harder to realize that their father had, in fact, been such a man.

"He is fearful of dragons," she said, "Jaime. He wants you to be careful."

"I can't blame him," Tyrion replied. "It was hard to see him get burnt."

"It's a dreadful mark," Brienne said. "It hurts day and night and there isn't much he can do."

Tyrion shook his head. "There is a rare salve, I've heard. I don't know if he has found the recipe, but I know it exists. I tried to find it for him, but haven't been able to."

Brienne's eyes lit up. "That is hopeful news," she said. "Please don't stop searching for it. Surely the library here at Winterfell will be at your disposal."

He smiled back a little sadly. "We'll be marching to war soon. There will not be any time." With that he stalked of and left Brienne standing knee deep in the snow. She looked at the dragon and briefly closed her eyes. They were so destructive yet did possess a sense of beauty as well.

"Look after him," she whispered, "if only for his brother's sake." The dragon pricked its ears as if he had hear her, but on a closer look, he'd probably been focusing on a hare that would soon be toast.


	37. Chapter 37

Chapter 37

 _The King in the North – pacing restless down Winterfell's hallways_

It was the middle of the night. Winterfell was silent. The castle slept. Apart from the guards, Jon was alone. He wanted to be alone. These last few weeks had drained him. All manners of disagreements came his way. He was expected to solve all the discord. The Dragon Queen did not help; she had chosen a new Hand. Tyrion was lost between the two sides. He still supported Daenerys in the open, but in private had been less impressed by her. Jon wouldn't mind him on their side, but as they were all supposed to be allies now, an end to all the skirmishes would be even better. In a few days, they would ride. He had told Sansa to stay behind. She did not like it, but relented. Arya would not. Jon had given in on that account; if she wanted to fight, she could fight. What was most on his mind was the dragon glass. If only he knew where it was hidden.

As he paced hour after hour, despair grew inside him. Just the dragons might not be enough. They had fire, but they needed weapons too. They needed the dragon glass. Desperately. He had searched the entire castle over and over again. Jokes had begun to appear calling him the King That Sought. It frustrated him as he wanted to shout out how important it was. How much they all needed it.

He briefly closed his eyes and it was as if a faint whisper spoke to him. It sounded like Bran. "Come to me," it said. "Come closer." Jon startled. Bran had briefly visited Winterfell with his companion Meera Reed but he had soon left. He would be safer in the marshes of her family where locations were not firm and shifted like blocks of ice on the water. His gift would be protected. Out of sight.

"Bran," he whispered. "Come where?" But as he asked the question, he already knew the answer. The Godswood. The heart tree.

"I'm coming," he said. "You'll have to help me, Bran," he pleaded. "You'll have to."

Bran did not respond. Tired by a night of no sleep and hindered by the darkness, Jon stumbled over tree roots until he was at the middle of the Godswood. The heart tree stood there, silent and solemn.

"Speak to me, Bran," Jon mumbled as he lay his hand on the tree. The tree's eyes opened and Bran's voice came out.

"The treasure is right here," he said. "Here at this sacred place, deep beneath the roots. Deep beneath the water."

Jon's eyes lit up, but then his face fell. "I can't do it," he said. "It would be sacrilege."

"That's precisely why it's here. No one would dare."

"The gods won't…. They won't mind?" Jon asked. Bran did not reply.

Jon sighed. "The night is dark and full of terror," he muttered to himself.

"Have faith, Jon," the tree with Bran's voice said. "Like Eddard the Hoarder and all the ones that came after him."

He nodded. "I will have faith," he said. "I will find the treasure. Without it, we won't stand a chance."

The next morning he asked everyone to gather in the great hall. When they were all present, Jon rose and spoke up: "Last night, I had…. A vision of sorts." He said. Bran's identity should remain hidden. "I was called to the Godswood." His sisters briefly gazed at one another. He gave them a curt nod. "Strange though it may sound," he continued. "The tree spoke to me."

His bannermen began to mumble. Tyrion looked at him expectantly whereas Daenerys's eyes narrowed. Tormund did not seem fazed at all but Davos cringed. Jon knew his experiences with Stannis had given him a great dislike for so-called guidance from the gods. "As you all know, I have been on a quest for hidden weapons." Some laughed. It had been hard to miss.

"The tree told me where to find them." At that, the hall fell silent and filled with anticipation.

"It's beneath its very roots," the King in the North said. "Hidden in the Godswood itself."

"It can't be," Sansa whispered, "that would be sacrilege. No ancestor of ours would have done such a thing."

"The gods will never forgive us," Lord Manderly said, shock written on his face. "I couldn't agree more," Lord Glover added his voice.

Jon rose his hands to calm them down. "I understand," he said. "I felt the same, believe me. It told me to keep faith. Perhaps this is a gift from the gods, our gods, to us. To protect the North!"

His bannermen did not look convinced. A sly smile crept over Danearys's lips. Tyrion at least had the heart to look displeased on his account.

"To take away any and all doubts," Jon said. "I'll be part of the search party myself. My spade will enter the ground beneath the tree. I would like volunteers. I would not dare to appoint any man to such a task, as each man has a conscience of his own." If there was anything he'd learnt from the free folk, that was it.

Tormund spoke. "I will help you," he said. "The trees do not lie; they speak for the gods."

"Thank you," Jon said. "Who else?!"

"I may not be of much help," Tyrion said, "but I will." His Queen shot him a look. Jon found it hard to read. Surely the Dragon Queen would wish to defeat the White Walkers too? Perhaps she thought it was yet another betrayal.


	38. Chapter 38

Chapter 38

 _Jon – digging deep_

They had let him gone at it first, Jon reflected, but that had not lasted long. Tormund and Tyrion had helped him from the very start and as soon as the Northern lords realized their gods were not raining fire upon them nor icicles they were a little more open to the idea. It wasn't until Bran's voice spoke at them all through the Weirwood tree – few recognized his voice – that all of them were finally convinced. They'd dug hard and deep and had discovered some shards of dragon glass along the way. They were very nearly there, Jon reckoned. Soon they'd hit the treasure, and sure enough, he heard jubilant voices shout a few feet away from him.

"We've found it!"

"It's here!"

"You did it!" That was Brienne's voice, praising her husband. Jon looked up and saw Tormund standing there with the largest grin on his face. In his hand a large but thin piece of dragon glass. "This should kill quite a few of them," he said, "enough for spears and axes."

"Swords and arrows," Arya said. "Daggers, all with a sharp blade…"

"It seems the gods have looked with mercy upon us," Jon said, in his most commanding voice. "They have granted us this gift. Now it's up to us to get to work."

The Dragon Queen had been standing by. Clearly unconvinced until the tree had spoken. Jon had noticed that had startled her somewhat; startled and intrigued her no doubt. He went and stood beside her. "Perhaps now we stand a chance," he said.

"Perhaps," she replied.

* * *

 _Jaime – haunted by nightmares_

When Jaime dreamt about dragons for the third night in a row, he decided he needed some dream wine. He crawled out of bed and noticed Suzanne had gone on one of her nightly strolls again. Picking mushrooms no doubt. As far as Jaime knew she hadn't found a new lover yet.

He found the dream wine as he prepared himself a cup, she came in. "You're awake," she said. "I thought you were sleeping."

"Dreaming again," he said, "tell me, you haven't sent me these dreams have you?"

"Which ones?" Suzanne asked as she put her basket with mushrooms down. "It's not something I do often."

"Dragons," he said, gritting his teeth. "Dragons, night after night. They like burning people to char but my brother thinks they're fit to ride. Like they're oversized horses…."

"He dreams big, your little brother," she quipped, but Jaime wasn't in the mood for jokes.

"He's putting himself into harm's way," Jaime insisted. "He never longed to be the hero, yet now he rides those beasts? Imagining himself a knight? A bloody Targaryen?"

Suzanne smiled apologetically. "I don't know," she said. "I didn't sent them, the dreams…"

"I wish I was there," Jaime said. "I could tell him not to. Not that he would listen…."

"The Dragon Queen is there too," Suzanne said. "You can't visit him, she'd have your head."

"She'd burn me, like her father intended to," Jaime said. "Yet I think that I should go."

"For you brother?" Suzanne asked. "Or for Brienne?" He smiled at her; she knew him better than he liked.

"For myself," he said. "I feel trapped here. I want to fight as well. And if my life is forfeit…."

"Then it will be forfeit?" she said, sneeringly. "How noble of you!"

"Don't mock me," Jaime hissed. "I've been longing to for quite some time already."

"I'm not mocking you," she said. "I'll come with you. Time to find my mother… Trace my history, like your brother has been trying to discover his."

Jaime sensed his eyes lit up. "You will?" he whispered. "You'll come with me?"

"Yes," she said. "For a time."

He nodded. "Very good," he said. "Perhaps that will make me sleep undisturbed."

Suzanne smiled at him. "Better drink the wine as well," she said with a laugh.

* * *

 _Tyrion – in the armory_

"I don't think I'll be of much help," he said, as he saw the spears, axes and swords stacking up in the armory. Sansa was inspecting the quality of each blade while her younger sister was trying them out on a puppet made out of cloth and hay. Sansa looked at him appraisingly.

"You will be on that dragon of yours," she said. "It will do all the work for you, but if you insist, you might take a bow and arrows. Are you any good at shooting from a far range?"

"Drinking is all I'm good for," he quipped. "These days…"

The Lady of Winterfell picked up on his tone. "The Queen still angry with you then?" she said.

He nodded carefully. "She tries not to show it too much, but yes, I think she still is."

Sansa shrugged. "She just doesn't like the idea of sharing her 'children,' isn't that what she calls them?"

"They are like children to her," Tyrion defended his Queen.

She shook her head at him. "They are the farthest from children than anything I could think of," Sansa said.

"She raised them," he disagreed. "She sees them unlike others do."

"As do you," she said, "as does Jon. She cannot claim them anymore. They are a weapon for us all as well, a weapon against the enemy."

"Better not let you hear her say that," Tyrion said. "She won't take kindly to them being referred to as such."

"I'll bear that in mind," Sansa replied. "So do you want a bow? A spear?"

"A dagger will do nicely," he said.

"Not much use from the air," Sansa pointed out.

"That's true," he said, grinning at her, "but it may help to skin a dead rabbit or two…."

She slapped him on the wrist when she realized he'd been fooling her.

"You'll have a bow," Sansa decided for him. "A bow and arrows and you will practice each day from this very moment onwards. You'll be our shield in the air."

Tyrion smiled at her. "Thank you," he said. "Air Shield sure beats Imp as a nickname."


	39. Chapter 39

Chapter 39

 _Jaime – on his way back to Westeros_

Brienne's father had not minded Jaime leaving his isle. Nor had Jaime minded leaving him. Both he and Suzanne were on a boat back to shore. Back to the seven kingdoms. To the war, Jaime thought. To death or glory. Suzanne was worried about him, she kept insisting he'd be careful. Though somewhat irksome, it told him that she cared. He had made himself one friend at Tarth at least.

"We'll need horses," she said. "Horses and provisions. And we also need to… know the way."

"Maps are quite rare though and not that easy to obtain," Jaime said. "Hard to steal as well. We'll find a way," he said, "I've travelled far and wide. We'll follow a river or the King's road but we need to stay out of sight as much as we can. Rather travel parallel to the King's road than on it."

"And then our ways will part," she said, "mayhaps forever."

He nodded. "We still have some time," he said, "and it may not be forever." She smiled at him, looking sad. "I think it will be," she said. "You're about to embark on a very hazardous journey. I don't expect to see you again. I hope I will, but…"

Jaime understood. "I have to do something," he said. "It's not right that they should fight and I should not."

* * *

 _Tyrion – airborne_

Climbing atop the dragon was hard still, Tyrion found. He'd flown on a few occasions since his first time in order to get a feel for it. It hadn't been easy, especially not carrying a bow as well. He was holding on for dear life most of the time instead of using his bow like a true bowman. But now he would have to. He had a quiver full of dragon glass arrows and he was dressed for battle. Today they'd fly North. All three of them. To scout from the air. Jon, Daenerys and him. The three heads of the dragon.

His Queen still did not fully trust him, but she agreed that the scouting was a good idea. They needed to know numbers, locations. They needed information. Both she and Jon were already seated on Drogon and Rhaegal, while he was still making a fool of himself. Finally Tyrion sat in a position that felt comfortable. He smiled at the other two. "Time to fly," he said. His Queen gave him a disapproving look, but Jon smiled back at him. "Time to fly, indeed," he echoed.

"Time to win," Daenerys said. "This is not a mere trip." She urged Drogon on and she was the first to head North. Jon and Tyrion followed.

Flying was still amazing Tyrion thought as the landscape behind him changed. Less and less trees, sparsely scattered villages, until there was only snow, ice and stone. "We are beyond the Wall!" he shouted as they flew over it. "I wouldn't be too happy about that," Jon replied to him, but Tyrion couldn't help grinning. It had been a wish of him, despite all the daunting stories. The wind was increasing and so was the snow fall, but Tyrion wasn't cold. He was wrapped in furs and sat on fire come alive.

* * *

 _Daenerys – flying over the land of always winter_

Tyrion looked far too much as if he was enjoying himself, she thought. He was smiling and grinning, as if they weren't on a mission to track down the wights. The wights and the Others. Daenerys still had to see these mysterious being for herself. She hoped the stories had been exaggerated. Surely they would be? When she noticed Jon gasp, her eyes were drawn to where he was looking. The snow was obscuring her vision, but she did see an army, slowly marching. Grey shapes, fleshless. "It's them," she whispered to herself. "Living, yet dead soldiers."

So many, she thought. Daenerys had hoped to be able to eliminate quite a few of them with this mission, but Jon had told her that a mere scouting trip would be far better. This enemy would not be defeated in one strike, not even with three dragons.

Jon already urged Rhaegal to turn around, but not before pointing out the Night King to her. Daenerys wasn't used to giving up so easily, but something about the being's cold stare and presence put fear inside her heart. She nodded in agreement with Jon, even though he wouldn't see it through the snowfall.

Drogon and Rhaegal turned almost simultaneously, like dancers, but Tyrion and Viserion did not. Tyrion flew onwards, even diving down. "Don't!" she shrieked at him, but he couldn't hear her. Viserion's fiery breath took a number of the wights and even two Others. The Night King seemed utterly unfazed however.

Daenerys saw that Tyrion and Viserion noticed that the both of them were flying in the other direction and, finally, they did too. She let out a sigh of relief. "We'll be safe," she muttered. "My three children."

* * *

 _Tyrion – the wights_

Seeing the undead up close was terrifying. Tyrion suddenly no longer wished to be a hero. "Please fly away, far, far from here," he whispered but Viserion did not hear him. He dived straight downwards and it was all Tyrion could do to hang on. He screamed, but it mattered not. The dragon roared. Roared louder than ever before and then set these marching skeletons on fire. They melted away before his eyes. Even an Other too. He melted as well. Like ice in the sun. And another one.

And then he saw the Night King. Staring at him. Tyrion's felt his throat tighten. He couldn't whisper any more, only beg the dragon inside his head. He briefly closed his eyes. Please fly away, he begged. Please Viserion. It was as if he'd heard his silent pleading after all. Viserion took to the air again and they flew away. Away from the smell of death, the stench of rotting. The bitter cold.

"You did well," he said, patting Viserion's head as he saw the Wall come in to vision in the distance again. "You took out a fair number of them. Well done!" Tyrion didn't notice the sharp mountain ahead of them, not the rogue Wildlings that had hidden there armed with bow and arrows, until it was too late. Viserion roared again, even louder than before and wriggled. The arrows didn't hurt him as much as they panicked him. "Viserion! Stay calm!" Tyrion shrieked but the dragon kept twisting and turning, wildly and out of control. Tyrion's hand slipped, his grasp slipped, and then he was falling. Falling through the snow, faster and faster. Viserion flew onwards, hardly even noticing the loss of his small rider, as the ground was quickly coming nearer. Tyrion closed his eyes. When he reached the ground he sunk deep into the earth, far into the snow. I'm gone, he thought, but then he realized. I'm not. I can think and breathe. His entire body ached. He couldn't move his feet. His hands still obeyed him. Tyrion was lightheaded from the fall and beneath the snow, the air was scare and damp. I need to get out, he franticly thought. I need to find my way back. Claw my hands bloody and frozen if I must.

In his frenzy, Tyrion didn't realize he was digging himself deeper into the snow. When the light began to fade from his eyes, he thought his last thought: I'm in the earth's womb, and as he closed his eyes, for good, it was as if he had returned to his mother. The mother he had never known was finally holding him in her embrace.


End file.
